Snaga of Mordor
by Nawyn
Summary: [COMPLETE] A Lorien Elf, fleeing from her home, bears a child that she raises in Dol Guldur. When that child grows older, what will she make of her life?
1. Prologue

Snaga of Mordor

Prologue

The sun was setting behind the Ered Lithui, but Galadwen's eyes burned with a fire greater than the sun's. She climbed the stairs of the tower of Dol Guldur slowly, clutching a small bundle greedily to her chest. She held her head high, but her eyes often flicked down to the bundle, glee seething in them.

"At last," she murmured in a voice filled with too-soft satin and rotting roses. "At last I have given My Lord what he asked for." Sick triumph flared from her once-blue eyes, which now resembled twin rubies. Galadwen had reached her room now, and she wrenched aside the curtain that separated it from the stairs and walked in. She placed the bundle down on the bed with great care, then with a cry of impatience ripped away the blanket that hid it. Her red eyes kindled again as her long-nailed finger trailed down the soft pale cheek of her newborn daughter. "Good," Galadwen cooed, her mouth smiling but her eyes sneering, "you have your father's eyes." The eyes blinked up at her from the child's face, large and blue, as her own had once been. As her sister's were still.

Galadwen cursed, grabbed a chair, and flung it against the stone wall. It struck the wall and smashed to pieces. She took heaving breaths, an insane smile flickering on her face as she imagined her sister lying in pieces instead of the chair. But then Elrond would grieve so...

"Why you, Celebrian?" she asked, her voice furious. She got up and started to pace. "I wanted him too. I could have made him so happy. What have you done for him, Celebrian? He bears Vilya – he could have been a king! And all you have let him do is become a doddering housekeeper!"

Galadwen could remember perfectly the visit Elrond had paid to Lothlorien, and how he and Celebrian, her elder sister, had fallen instantly in love. But she had loved Elrond as well, too much to hold it painfully inside her. Her face flushed with shame and anger as she remembered the visit she had made to him the night before his marriage to her sister. She did resemble Celebrian, but not enough to fool Elrond. He had refused her love, and had turned her parents' minds against her. _If only he had seen_ me _first, not Celebrian!_ she thought. _He would have loved me. I would have made him love me._

Galadriel and Celeborn had quickly learned the truth and banished their younger daughter from Lothlorien. She had wandered, friendless and defenseless, and had finally come to Mordor, nearly dead with hunger and exhaustion.

Galadwen could remember her first audience with Him. Lacking a form, he was nevertheless still powerful in spirit, even without the Great Ring he had made. **"So this is my Lorien fugitive,"** he had hissed. She could almost feel phantom fingers playing with her hair, stroking her neck. **"So pretty...I could use you as a consort, Elfling."**

She had fought free of the unwelcome fingers, but a part of her had still craved the warmth they brought. But her heart was still bleeding from Elrond's refusal, and she replied steadily, "I am no one's consort, no man's, no Elf's – not even yours." She thought again of Elrond, but this time she blamed not him, but Celebrian's influence.

He had laughed harshly. **"You have spirit, Elfling. Such a pity I cannot have you...but I desire no one whose heart longs for another."** She had gasped, and he had merely laughed again. **"Think you your daughters will be as fair as you?"**

"I see no reason why not."

Again that laugh. **"Then your daughter shall be my consort. Pick any of my servants and get with child by him. Raise her obedient to me and you – but to no one else. When she is old enough, she shall rule Mordor by my side."** His voice lost interest. **"Go then. Go!"** She had obeyed, terrified and exhilarated at once.

It had been hard, but she had finally located an Elf to give her a child. His name was Enrion, and he was younger than she was. He felt a sense of awe that she had chosen him, which Galadwen manipulated easily. But years had gone by, and she had not once conceived. Her Lord had grown restless, waiting for the birth of his consort, and Galadwen, desperate, had even contemplated trying an Orc before Enrion had finally given her a child. She was so relieved that she could even spare a moment to feel sorry for him when he died a month later by falling off a cliff.

She rewrapped the baby with shaking fingers. For all she pretended that she was not afraid of Sauron, she knew she was. "Come, my little treasure," she whispered, her tone mocking. "We must go see your master now."

He lived in a small room near the top of the tower. Even from the stairs, his aura of power was palpable. Galadwen gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on the baby, her salvation, heedless of the infant's sudden cry of pain. Galadwen climbed the stairs until she reached his room, and then she simply walked in.

His presence surrounded her like a thundercloud. **"Ah, Galadwen,"** he said, his voice mockingly gentle and solicitous. **"What have you brought me?** But even he could not conceal his eagerness. Galadwen hid a smirk and pulled aside the blanket.

"Your consort, My Lord," she said.

She could feel his longing to touch the baby, and his annoyance that he could not. **"She _is_ as lovely as you, Galadwen. You have done well."** She could hear the satisfaction that was her assurance of life in his voice, and she relaxed. **"What do you wish to name her?"**

Galadwen froze. _So, a final test before my life is secure?_ she thought, her mind racing for a name that would please Sauron. In that case, no Elvish name would do, although she could think of many nice ones. It had to be something that He would like, something that would make him laugh...Galadwen's face cracked into a pleased smile as she thought of it, the perfect name. "Her name, My Lord, is Snaga." She smiled ferally as the baby thrust her fist out and waved it desperately in the air, as if begging for a different name.

He would have smiled, if he had had a shape. Instead, he could only laugh, but he laughed in a pleased way. **"An Elf-child named Slave,"** he commented. **"You please me, Galadwen. I think I must give you and Snaga new rooms."** Then he lost interest. **"You may go."**

Trembling with relief, the tiny Snaga held so tightly to her that she could barely breathe, Galadwen descended the stairs.

_Author's Note: Two things to say. First, I'm sorry to have taken so long to put up a new story! I've been concentrating on college applications a lot. Second is, I didn't check my Middle-earth map until AFTER I wrote this story, so I put Dol Guldur in Mordor instead of Mirkwood, where it should properly go. I beg forgiveness, but I decided not to make the changes because then the title would have to go, and "Snaga of Mirkwood" just doesn't have the same ring as "Snaga of Mordor" – it makes it sound like yet another Legolas romance. So, my apologies on both counts to everyone._


	2. Times Past, Times Now

Snaga of Mordor

Chapter One

The whip snapped barely three inches from Snaga's eyes. She jumped, and Shaglush laughed hoarsely. "Teach you to let your attention wander!" he chortled. Snaga bit her lip, wishing her four hours with the Orc were over. Her mother insisted that she spend four hours of every day with Shaglush, to teach her about the customs and language of Mordor. _What customs?_ Snaga wondered. _All they are is survive in a barren waste and kill. And as for language..._ She swallowed down the lump in her throat. She could remember in perfect detail the day she had learned that her name meant "slave." Shaglush had been pacing up and down in front of her on the parapet of Dol Guldur, shouting words in the tongue of Mordor into the wind, following them with the Elvish translation, his lips curling as he spoke the words. Snaga was to repeat them back to him, including the Elvish translations. Galadwen, who spoke to Snaga in Elvish and to the rest of Mordor in their harsh language, had insisted on this arrangement.

Shaglush had yelled the word "snaga," but his translation in Elvish had been blown away by the wind. Snaga, the equivalent age of an eight-year-old, had yelled back proudly,

"Snaga – me!" Shaglush had laughed himself hoarser than he already was. "What?" she had demanded. "I am Snaga!"

His whip – the first time he had ever used it with her – cracked across her legs, and she cried out in pain. "Never contradict me, slave!" Shaglush shouted, drawing his arm back for another blow. "Do you hear me, slave?" he yelled as the whip came down again.

"I'm not a slave!" she had screamed, curling herself into a ball and covering her head with her hands.

"Yes, you are!" Between her fingers, Snaga could see flecks of spit flying from Shaglush's mouth. The whip lashed on her hands, and she screamed again as her hands were torn open. She cowered against the wall, the wind blowing her golden hair over her head, hiding the hideous slash on her hands. "Your name is Snaga!" Shaglush went on.

"What if it is? It's just my name!"

"_Snaga means slave!"_ Shaglush roared, standing over her, a fury incarnate. "Your very name shows what you are! You are a slave, and can never be anything else!"

Snaga had stared at him in shock, tears flowing freely down her face. It couldn't be true. For all her mother was, she would never have named her "slave," would she? She couldn't have. She couldn't have! "No!" Snaga yelled back at him. "That's not true!

You're a liar!"

Shaglush had dropped the whip and seized her around the waist. Snaga had cried out at the horror of the Orc's rotting skin digging into her own, but Shaglush had ignored her. He had held her up over the parapet, and she had cried out again at seeing the thousands of feet that she would drop if he let her go. He shook her, and Snaga screamed and covered her eyes. "Look, Slave!" Shaglush snarled. "I will drop you if you say I am a liar!" She had whimpered in terror. "I am not a liar! Say it!"

"You are not a liar!" she had screamed in fright.

"You are a slave! Say that as well!"

That had been harder, but she forced it out. "I am a slave!"

He hauled her back in and dropped her on the stones of the parapet, disheveled, bleeding, weeping frantically. He kicked her. "Get up, slave! We have a lesson to finish!"

"Letting your attention wander, slave?" Snaga jumped as Shaglush's voice recalled her from her memories. He leered, thrilled to see her discomfited. "Pay attention!"

Snaga boosted herself up on top of the wall. She had forced herself to overcome her fear of heights, told herself that the next time Shaglush tried to scare her with threats to drop her off the wall, she would not succumb to terror. It had worked so far, but it hadn't been put to the test, since Shaglush had never since threatened to drop her. "My apologies," she said as politely as she could. "Could you repeat what you have just said?"

Shaglush hurled his whip to the floor. "I have no time for teaching lazy, useless slaves!" he yelled. "Ghnakh!" His brother, younger by three years, hurried over to them from where he stood guard. "Take her to her mother. The lessons are over for today."

Concealing her elation behind a blank face, Snaga followed Ghnakh off the parapet and down the stairs to her mother's room. As Ghnakh turned and left her at the door, Snaga suddenly began to worry. What would Galadwen say when Snaga told her that Shaglush had ended the lesson early today? She would be angry, at the least. Snaga gulped down her apprehension and opened the door.

Galadwen had hardly changed since she first came to Mordor, aside from her red eyes and a harder look about her face. Even with all that, she was still beautiful, but from the look on her face as her daughter entered the room two hours early, one couldn't have guessed it. "What happened?" she asked, her voice carrying the cold tone that Snaga knew meant danger.

"Shaglush ended the lessons early," Snaga answered, hoping that would content her mother, but knowing that it wouldn't.

She was right. Galadwen got up off the bed and set aside the black gown she was embroidering in red. "Why?"

If Snaga had known of the existence of the Valar, she would have sent up a fervent plea to them to help her. Since Galadwen had not told her about them, she had to trust in her wits and her tongue to get her out of this. Unfortunately, they seemed to have deserted her, and all she could think of to say was the truth. "I was thinking of something that had nothing to do with the lesson," she admitted, bracing herself for the coming storm of rage.

Galadwen did absolutely nothing.

_That_ frightened Snaga far more than if her mother had begun screaming and slapping her. Her eyes slid from Galadwen's to her own shoes, studying the rough black sandals as though her life depended on them.

Finally Galadwen spoke. "Since you refuse to learn what I want you to learn, you must submit yourself to my will in another way." Snaga froze, suddenly cold, knowing what was about to come. "You will go pay your respects to Lord Sauron."

Snaga could barely breathe with fright. Heights she might have overcome, but not Sauron. "Please, Mother," she whispered. "Please – anything but that –" She despised having to beg, but if there was the slightest chance to get out of having to talk to Him, she would take it in an instant.

Galadwen was immovable. "Go," she commanded, and returned to her embroidery.

Knowing it was utterly futile to protest further, Snaga ascended the stairs to the tiny room where Sauron lived.

Her hand on the knob of the door, she paused. What was to keep her from turning around and running down the stairs, away from him? She could tell Galadwen that she had gone to see him – she could spare herself a serious fright –

"**Come in, little Snaga,"** murmured his voice behind the door. **"Your Lord commands it."**

Snaga swore vividly under her breath, words that she learned from Shaglush more easily than the history of Mordor. "Yes, my lord," she said through gritted teeth, opening the door.

As always, Sauron's presence was very much alive in the room he kept to. Snaga winced

as she walked into what seemed like a wall made of his vitality, not caring that he know how she felt about him. It wasn't as if he cared about how she regarded him. "Well, I'm here," she said tersely.

"**I can see that,"** he replied. **"Come closer, Snaga, so that I can see you better."**

Snaga stepped forward into the room. "Better?"

"**Much,"** he approved. **"Snaga, you should start thinking about what you wish to do when you are my consort."**

"And when would that ever be?" she snapped. "I know the arrangement you made with my mother – that when I was old enough, I would rule by your side." Snaga wanted to spit the taste of the words out of her mouth, but held the desire back. "But I have been old enough for a long time now, and you have not taken me." A faint smile touched the corners of her mouth as she added, "Am I not to your liking, _My Lord_?" She stopped,

afraid she had gone too far, but glad she had said every word of it.

The next moment, Snaga was thrown against the wall, her head slamming hard into the stones. She gasped with the sudden pain, but Sauron's voice filled her head and blocked out her own cry. **"Your privileges do not give you the right to cross me!"** he roared at her. **"Do so again and I promise you that you will suffer far worse than this!"** For emphasis, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the wall again. Snaga reached up a hand to touch the back of her head and found wetness. She was bleeding.

Sauron's invisible hands released her shoulders, and she fell to the floor. Her hands caught her weight, and her wrists screamed with the pain as they were forced to support her limp body. With an effort, Snaga shoved herself off the floor and onto her knees, folding her legs under her. Her tongue itched to snarl at Sauron, her hands to hurt him as much as he had hurt her – but she knew exactly how stupid that would be. She curled around herself, her hands gently rubbing her bleeding head, until she heard Sauron say, **"Get out."** She obeyed gladly, slamming the door behind her.

Her head throbbing, Snaga descended the stairs. Luckily Galadwen had left her room, so Snaga was able to slip through it and into her own. Once there, she picked up the end of her skirt, dipped it in a pitcher of water, and began very carefully to clean her head, wiping the spot where she was bleeding clean and working the red stains out of her golden hair.

The cloth scraped her head, and she let out an involuntary cry. The sound brought sudden hot tears to her eyes. Snaga dropped the wet skirt and cried, her head falling onto her arms. The tears burned their way down her face like fire, but she welcomed them. When she had no more tears left, she picked up her skirt again and went back to work, biting her lip between her teeth.


	3. Twisted Tales and Lucky Finds

Snaga of Mordor

Chapter Two

Galadwen seemed much put out as she stalked into Snaga's room a few days later. Snaga only looked up once at her mother, briefly, and then went back to stabbing a needle into the hem of the dress that had been torn when Sauron threw her against the wall. "Look at me!" Galadwen commanded irritably, and Snaga put aside her needle and gave her a blank stare. "My Lord has commented that you are not obedient enough. He said you willfully disobeyed him when you went to see him last. He has told Shaglush to beat you every time you are not obedient." Galadwen was smiling. _No mother should smile when this sort of thing happens to her child!_ Snaga thought angrily. "Furthermore, he has told me that you do not wish to be his consort." The smile was gone. Was this the reason Galadwen seemed angry? "It falls upon me, then, to teach you differently. I would have rather had a daughter who was not so stupid as to not grab at this chance, but I had you." Snaga flinched at the bitterness in her mother's voice.

"I have never told you of my past," Galadwen said in a soft tone that Snaga knew meant nothing good for her. "Once you hear it, once you hear of the brutality of your ancestors, you will be glad of the power that My Lord is offering you."

"Perhaps," Snaga replied. "When Orcs fly," she added under her breath.

Galadwen heard the addition, and she slapped Snaga hard before speaking. "When I was young, I lived in the woods of Lothlorien, the Elven realm. I was beautiful, Snaga. I am still beautiful, but much more so in those days. And I had a sister, Celebrian, who was almost as beautiful as I was.

"When Celebrian and I were young women, an Elf came to visit, Elrond of Rivendell. He was our age, and he was very handsome. We both fell in love with him." Listening to her mother's voice, looking at her face, Snaga found it easier to believe that Galadwen had loved a tree. Her face was hard as stone, her voice cold. "But he loved Celebrian. He loved her too well. She got inside his head and turned his thoughts against me. I went to him the night before he married her. I tried to tell him how I loved him, and alert him to what Celebrian was doing to him." Galadwen's voice grew impassioned. "He bore a Ring of Power, Snaga, given to him by a great Elven-king! He could have ruled all of Middle-earth with my help, but Celebrian's influence had so clouded his mind that he did not even see this. He told me I was crazy, that he did not love me – but I know he was lying. He loved me at that moment, _me,_ not my sister. He loved _me!_" Snaga flinched at the harsh tones of her mother's voice. "Then he told my parents about my visit. But he said that I had tried to turn him from Celebrian to me. He told them nothing of my real reason for coming to him, of the future he could have had! Celebrian made him forget all that. Then my parents banished me from my home." Galadwen's eyes were glittering red. "They died fifty years later. That is your history, Snaga, your precious ancestors. Betrayers of their kin! They turned me out when I needed help most, they let me fend for myself." She gripped her daughter's chin so hard that Snaga cried out and pulled away.

Galadwen gripped it again and stared into Snaga's blue eyes. "Now are you grateful that you do not live among them?"

Snaga gave the only answer a smart person would give, confronted by those insane red eyes. "Yes," she whispered, frightened.

Galadwen did not release her. "Good. Do not forget it." She let her go, picked up the forgotten dress, and began mending it. "Shaglush is waiting for your lesson." Shaking, Snaga backed out of the room.

_My mother is crazy._ That was the only explanation Snaga could give for Galadwen's manner and tone while telling the story. And, wish as she might that she could believe her mother, Snaga knew that the story was twisted, maneuvered and shaped to the point where Galadwen could be happy with it. She wondered what had really happened. She wondered how her grandparents had died, and what had happened to her aunt and uncle.

It was bizarre to think she had relatives outside Mordor.

She rounded a corner and froze in midstep. She was going to the parapet, where Galadwen had said Shaglush was waiting. Snaga swallowed a choke that rose in her throat whenever she thought of the Orc. After hearing Galadwen's version of her story, Snaga wanted to be alone, to think it over. She remembered what Galadwen had said about Sauron – "He said you willfully disobeyed him" – but thinking of even Shaglush was preferable to thinking about Sauron. _And besides,_ she thought mutinously, _I am the heir of a noble line of Elves! Who is he to keep me from doing what I want to do?_ Only a fool would dream of saying it aloud to Sauron, but only a fool would not think it whenever they could. Snaga turned around and headed away from the parapet, down the stairs that would lead to the small extra room that no one used in Dol Guldur. It had a large window, and she liked to sit at the window and think.

But such freedom did not seem to want to be hers today. As she started walking down the stairs, Ghnakh came around the corner and bumped into her. They both froze in shock for an instant. Snaga recovered her wits first – she shoved Ghnakh aside and began running pell-mell down the stairs. Ghnakh, realizing belatedly what she was doing, turned around and began to chase her, yelling hoarsely, "Stop, slave!" Hearing his voice much closer than she wanted it to be, Snaga sped up – a hard thing to do in the curving, cramped staircases of Dol Guldur.

As she ran, she made lightning-fast calculations. She couldn't go to her secret room now, not unless she wanted Ghnakh to discover it. She couldn't, of course, keep running indefinitely, because although she had faith that she could surely outrun Ghnakh, she didn't know how long she could keep going. The only alternative seemed to be to run until she found a room and slip inside without Ghnakh seeing her.

Of course, it wasn't easy to run unnoticed through the whole tower with an irate Orc screaming "Stop!" behind her. Snaga gritted her teeth and increased her speed, leaving Ghnakh following behind and staring in shock at the vanishing Elf-girl. The speed was surprisingly easy to maintain, and Snaga found herself enjoying the swift run. She smiled into the wind whipping her hair back from her face.

A door loomed up on her right. Snaga slowed to a halt and gripped the handle. The door was very heavy. She leaned her weight against it and gave it a tug. It didn't budge. She took it in both hands, dug her heels into the stone floor, and yanked it as hard as she could. It flew open with a bang, and the impact knocked Snaga to the floor. Her head slammed into the stones, and an involuntary cry of pain burst from her lips, but she forced herself to get up and go through the door. She couldn't resist giving the door a hard kick as she passed it, which earned her satisfaction and a stubbed toe. Grimacing, Snaga hauled the door shut behind her and looked around at the room she'd come into.

It was an armory.

Pieces and suits of heavy Orc armor decorated the walls. Set in wooden stands were pikes and spears, and laid in cupboards, still sheathed, were swords. Daggers, arrows, and bows were piled in a corner. Snaga noticed that the weapons were not all of the crude Mordorian make – some were delicate, gleaming, carefully forged and well-used. Snaga guessed that the better weapons were for the Elf-fire that the Orcs enjoyed having every year. They would gather all the Elven possessions they had gotten over the year and burn them outside the tower. Snaga drew a finely-made dagger from its leather sheath and ran two fingers down the length of fine-tempered steel. It was a shame that the Orcs burned and destroyed such beautiful things.

Wait a moment…An idea began to blossom in Snaga's mind. Why couldn't she save some of these beautiful weapons and – and teach herself to use them? She walked quickly over to a cabinet with Elven swords and took one out of its sheath. It was far too heavy for her to be able to wield, and the point dropped heavily to the floor, but Snaga was smiling. It would take a long time to get strong enough to be able to do more than hold the hilt of the blade, but she could do it. Once she figured out how to permanently elude the detestable lessons with Shaglush, she would have all the time in the world.

_Practice begins now._ Snaga sheathed the sword and put it on the ground. It looked to be the lightest of all the blades in the cupboard, so she would take that one for her own. She walked over to a rack with only the heavy Mordorian spears and wrestled one free of the rack. She could barely hold the hunk of metal, but she gritted her teeth and forced her arms to straighten in the air while holding the spear five times. Sweat was coating her forehead by the time Snaga finished the fifth elevation. "Once I can do that easily," she panted, replacing the spear, "I'll move on to ten times."

She leaned down from the waist and touched her toes with the opposite hands ten times each. That was easy – being an Elf, she was quite supple. Next, she unsheathed one of the longer daggers and practiced leaping back and forth, jabbing, feinting, and dodging, treating the dagger like a sword. Although she'd never held one before now, Snaga was sure that she was going about her fencing practice abysmally. _I'll just have to watch the Orcs training,_ she told herself. _Now – back to work._

After she'd been sneaking away from Shaglush, Ghnakh, and Galadwen for a month,  
Snaga knew she needed to find a better plan. She couldn't go on evading them forever, and sooner or later they would follow her and discover her secret. Or, worst of all, Galadwen might find the sword and dagger that Snaga had hid under her mattress, the sword and dagger that she had selected as her own. She trained herself with heavier weapons, so the lighter ones would be that much easier to handle.

Suddenly the perfect plan leaped into her mind. "Of course!" Snaga cried aloud. "Why didn't I think of it before?" It was perfect, neat, simple, and foolproof. All it required was…

The worst thing it could possibly require. An audience with Sauron.

It took Snaga a long time to talk herself out of her idea and then back into it, but finally she was climbing the stairs to the chamber where Sauron lived. Outside the door, she gritted her teeth, gripped the knob hard, and came quickly into the room. As always, the very existence of his presence smashed into her, and she stood by the door, recovering her breath.

"**Little Snaga,"** he said, his voice too kind. **"What is it you have come for? Your mother tells me that it has been a long time since she spoke with you."**

"It has been a long time," Snaga agreed, "but I wanted to ask a favor of you."

The atmosphere in the room grew tenser. **"What might that favor be?"**

This was it. Snaga crossed her toes for luck and said, "My Lord, I'm not learning anything in the lessons my mother insists I have with Shaglush. If, instead of those, I could have the time to practice –" She took a deep breath. "– to practice ruling, I would be put to a much better use."

Perhaps Sauron was so much of a deceiver himself that he couldn't realize when someone was deceiving him. Perhaps he believed her. The words that came from his nonexistent mouth filled Snaga with joy and relief. **"This seems quite reasonable,"** he said. **"Your request is granted. The lessons are canceled."**

Snaga bowed in relief and backed out of the room. She didn't dare to collapse against the wall and gasp until she was in her own room, but once she was there, she did.

Then she pulled the dagger from under her mattress. As long as it and she were both here and she had permission from Sauron, she might as well keep working. Snaga allowed herself to smile.


	4. A Runaway and a Secret

Snaga of Mordor

Chapter Three

Arwen ducked in and out of the trees, watching the fifteen travelers make their way to Rivendell. Thirteen were Dwarves, each with a long beard and a colored hood. One was a smaller creature, his hairy feet bare, looking utterly weary, but cheered up by the songs of the Elves. But the fifteenth member of the party Arwen knew on sight – Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, whom some called Gandalf. Arwen slipped behind an oak, still singing, but hoping wildly that Gandalf would not recognize her. She was supposed to be visiting her grandmother in Lothlorien, not racing through the trees and singing with the other Elves of Rivendell.

The song ended, and Arwen quickly took the shortcut path that she and her brother Elrohir had discovered years ago. It was a much quicker way to Rivendell than the path that the Dwarves and Gandalf were taking. Arwen sat down against a tree, catching her breath and wondering why Gandalf and thirteen Dwarves would have come to Rivendell.

A footstep crunched on the leaves nearby. Arwen leaped to her feet and whirled around to see Elrohir coming toward her, chagrin that he'd made a sound and alerted her to his presence on his face. Happiness at seeing her favorite brother and nervousness that she'd been seen warred on Arwen's face, making Elrohir laugh. "I'm not going to turn you in to Father," he assured her, grinning. He sat down by the tree and patted the ground. Easily settling into their old companionship from when they were younger and planning mischief, Arwen sat too.

"Galadriel helped me sneak away," Arwen confided, knowing that Elrohir would want to know all the details of how she had come back. "I told her that I was homesick, and she and I planned how I could get back to Rivendell. It was a little hard crossing the mountains, but I managed it." Arwen's eyes sparkled. "It was fun! My first adventure!"

Elrohir laughed. "So the Evenstar has descended from the sky to do the work of one of us mere Elves?"

Arwen swatted her brother. "Stop that! You know I hate when people call me Evenstar. My name is Arwen!" She paused for a moment, then added, "At least you're not calling me 'Lady Undomiel,' like my attendant in Lothlorien. I hate that even more than just Evenstar."

"Very well, Lady Undo –" Arwen clapped her hand over Elrohir's mouth, effectively stopping the rest of the unwanted epithet. Elrohir retaliated by tickling her under the ribs, where she was most ticklish. Arwen yelped and kicked his shins. "Ow!" Elrohir complained, letting her go.

Then he got down to business. "Arwen, you aren't planning just to appear at dinner tonight, are you?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I'm not that big of a fool!"

"Well, in that case you'll need help hiding." Elrohir grinned. "If Your Ladyship would allow me to assist her…"

Arwen grinned back. "Of course I will," she assured him.

"And will you allow me to help as well?"

Arwen started at the third voice. She had not heard it in a long time, but she knew it just the same. She spun around, hoping he would not tell her father she was here. "Gandalf!" she gasped. "Please, you can't tell Father, it has to be a secret –"

The wizard held up his hand, a smile twinkling in his eyes. "Peace, Arwen!" he exclaimed. "I will keep your secret." Arwen breathed a sigh of relief. "I would like to be a part of the secret for as long as I am here."

"Why _are_ you here?" asked Arwen and Elrohir at the same time. They grinned a little embarrassedly, then looked at Gandalf expectantly.

Gandalf laughed. "For all that you are both on the brink of adulthood, you act like little children!" From some, that would have been a rebuke – from Gandalf, it was a gentle tease. "I am here because I am helping Thorin Oakenshield in his quest."

"And what is that?" pressed Arwen.

"He seeks to get the dragon Smaug out of the Lonely Mountain, and to reclaim his family's treasure." Both Arwen and Elrohir were silent in shock. "Those with him are his kin and his friends. And their burglar," he added, smiling amusedly.

"Burglar?" asked Elrohir. "Who –"

"Oh," Arwen said slowly. "He's the small person! The one with hairy feet!"

"Yes," Gandalf confirmed. "He is a hobbit, and his name is Bilbo Baggins. But enough of this. How do you plan to keep yourself concealed here?"

"She can stay in my room," Elrohir offered. "Elladan won't mind."

"Perhaps she should simply return to her own room," Gandalf suggested. "Since all assume you are not here, Arwen, your room would be the last place they would look."

"But when they clean it –"

"Then you can probably slip into Elrohir's room," Gandalf interrupted. He gave them both a mock-stern glance. "I'm sure you've figured out many ways to get from one room to another."

"Well, yes," Arwen admitted. Elrohir was grinning, with absolutely no shame.

"Then that's settled!" Gandalf announced. "I should be going back to the others. I won't breathe a word of this to Elrond, I promise!" And he left, easily slipping through the trees to join his party again.

It was a few days later that Elrohir hurried to Arwen's room and whispered that no one was in the garden. Excited at the possibility of being alone in her favorite place in Rivendell, Arwen hurried to the garden and ran up the little path to her own plot. She was relieved to see that someone had been tending it while she was in Lothlorien, and that they had not planted any different flowers in her plot. _As long as I'm here,_ she thought, _I might as well work on it, too._ She began to clear away the little weeds from the plot.

Suddenly her ears pricked up. Someone was coming towards her plot. She quickly ducked behind a tree and waited for the person to come. Arwen breathed a sigh of relief when Gandalf turned the corner and sat down on the ground. He looked weary and worn. She came out from behind the tree and asked, "What's wrong?"

Gandalf started, then saw her and smiled, shaking his head. "Heavy business," he answered, pulling his hat off and setting it beside his staff on the ground.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Arwen asked, kneeling next to the wizard. On all his previous visits to Rivendell, he had been cheerful, with a smile and a wink always ready for her and her brothers. It was strange to her to see him so pensive and tired.

Gandalf shook his head again. "I think not," he said. "I have just learned something I did not dare to hope – or believe." He glanced at her, saw the curious sparkle in her eyes, and laughed. "You want to hear, don't you?"

Arwen blushed, embarrassed. "Well…yes, I do," she admitted.

"Very well." Gandalf reached over and took her hand. "But promise me, Arwen, that you will not speak of what I tell you, not even to Elrohir or Elladan, unless I give you permission to tell them."

Arwen's eyes widened. This must be an important secret. "I promise."

"Good." Gandalf closed his eyes, then opened them and fixed Arwen with a steady gaze.

"You know, of course, that your mother was not Lady Galadriel's only daughter."

"Yes," Arwen answered. "She had a younger sister named Galadwen, who was banished when she tried to steal Father away from Mother and twist his mind to evil."

Gandalf's eyebrows lifted, and he smothered a laugh at the matter-of-fact way Arwen spoke the dark secret of her aunt. "Yes," he confirmed, "that is true. No one knew where she ended up when your grandparents banished her from Lorien. However…" He sighed heavily. "One of my Istari brethren has told me that the Necromancer is stirring in Dol Guldur." He did not tell her who he believed the Necromancer to be; he couldn't do that to her innocence. "And with him, so he tells me, is an Elf-woman, full of bitterness, pride, and anger – and that Elf's daughter."

Arwen stared in astonishment. "So…so my aunt is in Mordor?" She shuddered as the name passed her lips. "And she bore…I have a cousin?"

"A cousin, moreover," Gandalf added, "who is being reared to be –" He broke off abruptly. He had forgotten that he was not speaking to Elrond, who could take the knowledge and find some way to get out of the danger, but to his young daughter. "Never mind," Gandalf said quickly. "It's not important."

"It must be, or you wouldn't have started to tell me!" Arwen argued. "I am not a child, Mithrandir. I can be told secrets and trusted to keep them."

Gandalf looked at Arwen in surprise. It was true, he reminded himself. He had grown so used to thinking of Elrond's daughter as a young child that he had forgotten that she was older now. "My apologies," he said. "Then I will tell you." He took a deep breath and said it. "I believe that the Necromancer is Sauron, gathering his strength back. And your cousin, Arwen, is being raised by her mother to be his consort if he regains his power."

Arwen said nothing for a long time. She looked down at the weeds in her hands, at the ground, anywhere but at Gandalf. To reassure her, the wizard added, "But I do not think she is evil, Arwen."

"How could she be anything else, raised in Mordor to be _His_ consort?" she asked quietly.

"I think that she does not want to share the power Sauron wants for himself," Gandalf told her. "She is, after all, Lady Galadriel's granddaughter, and probably has the Lady's spirit. But that is why I am weary, Arwen.

"When I first learned of the existence of this girl, I was horrified. But now that I think that she would choose, if she could, not to be in Mordor, I think that my mission is clear. I am going to try to go there, Arwen, and bring her back."

Arwen swallowed. _I did ask to be told,_ she reminded herself, trying to take in all the knowledge that she had just heard. From having no relatives on her mother's side except her grandparents, she suddenly had an evil aunt and a cousin who might or might not be perfectly willing to be the consort of the Dark Lord! She shook her head, not realizing that Gandalf had done the same thing before he told her about her cousin. She heard the wizard get up and leave, for which she was grateful. She needed time alone to think about this.


	5. Arwen's Plea

Snaga of Mordor

Chapter Four

The Dwarves, the hobbit, and Gandalf remained in Rivendell for several days. Arwen stayed hidden for all of them, and she was wondering how long she expected to keep living this way. It had seemed as though it would be easy to stay in Rivendell for as long as she wanted when she and Galadriel were making the plans back in Lothlórien. Arwen had not reckoned with the fact that she hated being shut away from the light and growing things, or that she did not like sneaking around her own home. It came as something of a surprise to her when she realized that she wanted to go back to Lothlórien.

It came as a surprise to Elrohir, too. "But you just got back!" he protested. "I thought we were going to have lots of time together!"

Arwen bit her lip, knowing how spoiled she must seem. "That's what I thought, too," she admitted, "but this isn't doing any favors for me. Besides being with you and Elladan, of course," she added hastily.

The door to Arwen's room opened, and both of them jumped. It was only Gandalf, however, and Arwen breathed a sigh of relief. _It would have been just my luck,_ she thought ruefully, _if it was Father or an Elf who found me, just as I was deciding to go back to Lothlórien._ Aloud she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Thorin is making ready to leave," Gandalf told them.

"Are you going with them?" Elrohir asked.

"For a little way," Gandalf replied. "I must leave them soon to…there are things that I must see to," he finished. Arwen knew what he meant. He was going to go to Mordor and find out about her cousin. She caught the wizard's eyes, and the look in them assured her that she had guessed right.

Suddenly an idea occurred to Arwen, an idea so crazy and unlikely to succeed that she wanted to do it. She bit her lip to stop the scared excitement rising in her at the thought that Gandalf might say yes. Unlikely, of course – probably he would simply refuse and that would be the end of it – but possible, nonetheless.

It even seemed as though fate approved of her idea, because Elrohir suddenly clapped a hand to his mouth and gasped, "The Quenya translations! Master Firion wanted me to have the Lay of Luthien translated into Quenya by tonight!" He dashed out of the room, and Arwen had to bite her lip again to stop herself from laughing. Master Firion had been tutor to the children of Elrond when she was still officially in Rivendell, and Elrohir had neglected his assignments then, too. It was a familiar sight to see her brother suddenly bolt off to do his work the day it was due.

Gandalf, too, was having trouble concealing his merriment, by the way his eyes were sparkling. "He has not changed greatly since I last saw him – in that respect, anyway."

Arwen shook her head in agreement. Then she launched into her idea. "Gandalf, I don't want to stay here much longer. I prefer Rivendell when I'm supposed to be here and I don't have to sneak. But I don't yet want to go back to Lothlórien." The Golden Wood was beautiful, of course, but Arwen had had enough formalities there to last her a hundred years. She took a deep breath. "I was hoping…I thought maybe I could…I could come with you and find my cousin!" she blurted in one breath, her fingers crossed for luck, hope rising in her like a wave. _Please say yes,_ she begged silently, _please say yes._

Gandalf's eyes widened, and his eyebrows shot up into his hat brim. "Arwen, I can't do that. I cannot take you to Mordor."

"Please," Arwen begged. "I want to _do_ something, something important, before I have to be married off and happily settled down like a good little girl! And I think I have a right to meet my cousin!"

"No." The word was spoken softly, but it carried all the impact of a shout.

Arwen had never been one to recoil at a shout. "Why not?"

Gandalf's carefully-reined temper exploded. "Because it's the most dangerous place in all Middle-earth you could possibly go, and you will more than likely die!" He was really shouting now, and Arwen was suddenly terrified that someone would come into the room and find her out. Gandalf, however, apparently did not care about that. "I will not be responsible for your death!"

"Keep your voice down! Someone will come in soon!" Arwen hissed.

Gandalf lowered his voice. "I have no desire to drag you across the world just to be killed, Arwen, and if you had the sense of even Isildur you would not _want_ to come!"

Arwen turned away. "Gandalf, I've never been allowed to do anything more exciting than fencing practice. What good is that going to be if I never use it? All my life I've had to stay inside and do my work and my sewing and watch while Elladan and Elrohir ride out to battle and help Father make decisions. Sneaking back here was the first completely independent thing I've ever done, and I don't want it to be the last because I'm in danger of dying! My brothers face death every time they go out to get rid of Orcs, but it's all right for them because they're men. But if I even hint that I'd like to go with them next time, everyone instantly says, 'No, you'd be in danger.' Please don't be one of them, Gandalf." She swallowed hoping she'd gotten through to him.

Gandalf sighed heavily. "Arwen, that's all well and good, and if I were going anywhere else, I'd be happy to take you with me. But this is Mordor, Arwen! This is not a simple mountain crossing; it's the Land of Shadow!" He sat down on the bed, staring wearily into her eyes, trying to make her understand.

She looked back at him steadily. "Please."

Gandalf dropped his head into his hands. "I have a feeling that a headache will come on if I argue any longer with you, so…very well. You may come."

She squealed with joy and threw her arms around Gandalf's neck. "Thank you!" she cried.

Gandalf couldn't help but smile as he pried her loose. "All right, that's enough." He stood up, rubbing his head. "Make ready. We leave tomorrow morning." He left her room.

With a smile on her face that would not have been there had she known what she would face, Arwen dragged out the bag she had taken to Lothlórien and began to pack.


	6. Refusal and Reprisal

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Five**

At the sound of a footstep outside her door, Snaga quickly hid her dagger in its sheath, which she had attached to a belt she wore under her dress, and grabbed for the book Galadwen had given her when the lessons with Shaglush had stopped. Snaga didn't really like reading about the history of Mordor, but since Galadwen both expected her to and had gone to all the trouble of writing it down in Mordorian, it was good to be seen trying to read it.

Galadwen opened the door. Something was dancing behind her red eyes. "Snaga, come."

Snaga looked up. "Why? What's happening?" she asked, closing the book. She dropped it onto her bed. The sheathed dagger slapped her legs gently as she stood and walked around the bed. She did not like the hidden smirk in her mother's eyes.

"You must speak with Him," Galadwen told her. "He is…most anxious…to talk to you about your future."

Can't I at least have my birthday in peace? Snaga thought, annoyed and more than a little frightened as she followed Galadwen out of the room. Her mother walked quickly, almost bouncing as she took steps. Galadwen never bounced when she walked. This is not good, Snaga thought, suddenly glad she still had her dagger with her.

Snaga's feeling of foreboding mounted when Galadwen started to walk up the stairs to Sauron's tower. Snaga's right hand fell stiff at her side, brushing the dagger hilt under her dress for comfort. She cast an uneasy glance behind her as Shaglush and Ghnakh materialized out of the shadows in front of the door and followed her into the room, closing the door shut with a bang. Snaga jumped as they did so – it sounded as though a tomb door were closing, locking her into the crypt. She braced herself against the force of Sauron's being.

"**Excellent, Galadwen,"** Sauron said in an approving voice. Snaga tried to back up against the door, but Shaglush shot her a look of pure hatred, and she froze where she stood. **"You may stay."** Galadwen stepped back and turned her red gaze on Snaga. **"Step forward, little one,"** Sauron said.

Her mind was screaming at her, _Get out of here! Get out!_ Snaga stood her ground, not moving.

"**Come to me,"** Sauron commanded, anger coming into his voice. Snaga swallowed hard, but took not one step forward. **"Come!"** Sauron snarled, and Snaga came forward unwillingly, but afraid of what he could do in anger. She had not forgotten being slammed against the wall.

Instantly his voice calmed down. **"Much better,"** he said. Snaga could hear the smirk in his voice. **"Snaga, today is your birthday, is it not?"**

"It is," she replied, forcing her voice to stay steady, and not shake with fear.

"**You see, little one, I felt utterly miserable at not having a gift for you on your birthday,"** Sauron continued. **"Luckily, I realized this in time to prepare something very special for you."** Snaga saw Galadwen lick her lips like an animal. **"Your mother has kindly helped me in making the gift. Galadwen, you may now give it to her."** Snaga could feel Sauron settle back, like a satisfied cat with cream on its whiskers – or perhaps, instead, with a few stray feathers once belonging to a bird. She shivered, although the tower was hot, as Galadwen drew from the pocket of her dress a packet and handed it to her. **"Open it, Snaga,"** Sauron urged.

Her fingers trembled as she untied the string around the packet. She pulled away the cloth that the gift was wrapped in. Something fell with a clink to the floor. **"Pick it up, Snaga."**

Snaga bent down. She reached out and plucked the thing off the stone floor. Her hands shook as she turned a gold ring set with a dense black stone in her fingers.

"**During the Second Age, I helped the Elven-smiths make the Great Rings of Power,"** Sauron said almost eagerly. **"For you, I designed one that is unique. Your mother forged it and set the stone, but the ring is of my own design. Its name is Darya."**

Something was very wrong about this ring. Snaga knew that Sauron often spoke of a One Ring that he had made and longed to have again, and always when he talked of it, he mentioned a war and nineteen other rings whose owners he wished to "possess." _What will happen to me if I put on this ring?_ Snaga wondered with apprehension. "What is the stone?" she asked, trying to find out something about the ring that would tell her of its powers.

"It is a darkstone," Galadwen told her, "found only here, in Mordor."

Snaga knew of darkstones. They were set in slave collars, and believed to have the power to bind something. "And what does Darya mean?" she asked, deciding that she would never put this ring on.

"**Darya is the ring's name, nothing more,"** Sauron told her, his voice soft and soothing. Snaga found her finger drifting toward the center of the smooth gold band, and discovered that she had neither will nor wish to stop it. **"It is naught more than a birthday gift. Put it on to please me. I wish to see it on your hand."**

"What…are…its…powers?" Snaga asked drowsily, her finger almost within the circle of Darya. Her eyes were drifting shut.

"**Darya is the Ring of Possession,"** Sauron replied, his voice still soft. **"Put it on."**

The dagger shifted against her leg, and the sheath gently swatted her thigh. The sheath was tipped at the bottom with metal, so the dagger wouldn't poke through it, and the cold iron against her leg startled Snaga out of her trance. Her eyes flew open, and she snatched her finger away from Darya. The ring had almost completely encircled her finger. With a snarl, Snaga hurled the ring at Sauron's feet, her hand flying to the hilt of her dagger.

Sauron shrieked a curse as Darya clattered to the floor. At the sound of his voice, Shaglush leaped at Snaga, hurling his weight against her and bringing them both crashing to the floor. Snaga seized the hilt of her dagger, pulled it up through a slit in the side of her dress, and slashed inexpertly at the Orc's restraining hands. Her unprofessional stroke did the job – Shaglush screamed in rage and pain, two of his fingers lying in a pool of black blood by Snaga's head. She brought her legs up to her chest, planted her feet on Shaglush's chest, and kicked him off her. He rolled onto the floor beside her, clutching his mutilated hand with his whole other one, and Snaga leaped to her feet, dagger at the ready.

Ghnakh bellowed in anger and drew his own knife. Snaga fell into a crouch as he came at her, aiming his blade at her throat. She ducked his swing and stabbed upward, hoping to hit his heart, lungs, or gut.

She missed, only scoring a line down his chest, cutting open his leather vest. He hurled his knife at her, and Snaga ducked it too slow – it caught her left shin and dragged down. She cried out in pain and wrenched it out, tears of agony blurring her vision.

Perhaps that was why Sauron was able to get her.

The next thing Snaga knew, she was being tossed around the room like a ball in the hands of children, buffeted back and forth by some unseen wind. The hands that caught her were the walls of the tower. She struck one and bounced off it to be hurled against another, merely to slide off it and thud into yet another wall. A thin line of blood trickled from her head down her cheek, next to her eye. Her left leg was screaming – no, it was she herself who was screaming, screaming at the top of her voice with agony and fear and rage.

But Sauron's furious voice overrode her screams. **"Do you think this is pain?"** he demanded. **"You have not even experienced minor discomfort! Will you accept my gift and put an end to this?"**

_It would stop! It will stop, if I take that ring._ For a fleeting instant, Snaga thought she could take Darya, admit defeat, be subject to Sauron's will when she wore Darya – anything, so long as it would stop this abominable pain! But then she thought of what that would mean – all her own will bled away, to be a mere vassal of Sauron, doing whatever he bade her do – and she knew, with a sense of shocked, angry recklessness, that she would rather die.

She drew in a breath and spat on the floor.

Instantly the pain she felt was multiplied tenfold, a thousandfold. She could no longer even scream. She simply hung limp in Sauron's grip as he smashed her bones against the walls, tore at her golden hair, used her own dagger to slash up and down her body. He offered her no other chance to save herself. Snaga felt in her ruined body that death was coming, that it was reaching out its hands for her. She could almost see the grandparents that Galadwen had told her were dead reaching out for her, murmuring _"Welcome…"_

Then Sauron let her go. She fell to the floor, scant moments from dying, but kept on the threshold of the living. Snaga felt her tattered sides heave as she tried to breathe. _Why won't you let me die?_ she thought despairingly. _Please let me die!_

"Ghnakh," said Sauron's voice, cold and taut with fury somewhere above her, "see to it that she does not die. Do not heal her; just keep her barely alive. Lock her in the dungeon, in a cell where no light shines through. And make sure she does not kill herself." Snaga felt Ghnakh seize her wrist. She had no strength with which to pull herself to her feet, so she could only be dragged from the room. Her body slumped down the myriad stairs after Ghnakh, who from time to time delivered a savage kick to her face, muttering, "For Shaglush, you filthy slave," under his breath each time he did so. Snaga let herself fall into darkness, knowing as she did so that it was not death, but only pain-numbing unconsciousness, from which she would wake soon enough to a nightmare.


	7. Into the Goblin Caves

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Six**

"I still can't believe they let me through!" Arwen exclaimed as she spread everyone's cloaks to dry in a corner of the cave that Fili and Kili had found. The two Dwarves had been sent out to find a place where all sixteen of them could shelter, and they had done it quite admirably. Arwen wished they could have lit a fire, as Oin and Gloin, two other Dwarves, had wanted, but Gandalf, for reasons of his own, had forbidden it. She dug into her bag and came up with a piece of bread, which she ate with immense appetite – they had been walking all day. "Did Elrohir's cloak fool them that much?" she went on, wondering aloud.

"Oh, I don't know if it was the cloak at all," Gandalf replied from the other end of the cave, spreading out his blanket, "as much as what they saw."

Arwen stared in dawning comprehension. "You mean you – you put – oh, you rotten person!" she laughed, balling up Elrohir's wet, borrowed cloak and throwing it playfully at the wizard. "You put magic on me so they wouldn't see!" Her amused grin gave the lie to her scolding tone, and Gandalf merely caught the cloak and threw it back at her with deadly accuracy. It hit her in the face, and the Dwarves laughed, clapping both Gandalf and Arwen on the back good-naturedly. The hobbit, Bilbo, sat at one end of the cave, smiling, but looking too nervous to join the merriment. He was perfectly at ease, however, when it came to sharing out the food, and when the Dwarves lay out on their blankets and told stories of their past exploits, and of their plans for their gold. Arwen enjoyed them at first, but eventually she got bored listening to endless tales of _what I'll do with my great-great-grandfather's gold drinking goblet_ and _I remember when my uncle's grandmother forged the spear for an Elven-king_ – it all seemed to be quite the same thing. The last thing she remembered was Thorin speaking gravely about a great jewel that had once belonged to his house, and her eyes drifting shut…

When she opened them again, it was very dark. She had snapped awake at some sound, and was looking around for the source of it when she felt something snatch her arm. She cried out in shock and tried to wrench out of the grasp of whatever was holding her, but five other hands reached out and gripped her, hauling her to her feet. Bilbo was already fully awake and being hustled down a corridor that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere in the cave wall. The Dwarves were being likewise seized and shoved down the corridor. Her wits were working well enough, now, to tell that the creatures that were holding them all were goblins. Arwen spared a terrified glance behind her for Gandalf, but he was gone. _Have they gotten him, too?_ she wondered as the goblin behind her gave her a kick and urged her forward.

Arwen had no idea how long she, Bilbo, and the Dwarves were dragged down the dark tunnels under the mountain, but it seemed like forever. At one point, a goblin took out a whip and began striking at their heels. Arwen bit her lip hard at the pain and walked faster. She would not run for them, though – no matter what was happening, she was an Elf, and would retain her dignity, if not her freedom.

Finally they came into a huge cavern. A fire blazed in the center, and Arwen caught sight of their ponies herded into a corner before three goblins came at them and chained all of them, hands behind their backs. The rough links of the chain rubbed hard on Arwen's wrists as the goblins dragged them to the end of the cavern, where the Great Goblin sat on his rock of a throne. Arwen longed to stand upright and proud, as she had a feeling her brothers would, but common sense made her bow her head to hide her Elven face. She gritted her teeth in anger as the Great Goblin accused Thorin of being spies. She flinched as the Great Goblin mentioned Elves – hopefully they just thought she was of the race of Men. Otherwise, judging by the hate in the Great Goblin's voice, she had no hope of leaving the cavern alive.

Then Arwen bit back a gasp. One of the goblins had taken Thorin's sword, Orcrist, of Elvish make. She had no doubt that the Great Goblin would know it to be such.

He did. "Murderers and Elf-friends!" he screamed as he caught sight of Orcrist. "Slash them! Beat them! Bite them!" He went on screaming, jumping off his stone in rage and running at Thorin as though he were going to bite the Dwarf's head off. Arwen stumbled back, sparing a fleeting moment to wish that she had her sword in her hand, not in her pack –

And every single light in the cavern went out as though on command.

Blue sparks started to leap up from where the fire had been a second before. Arwen jumped out of the way of the sparks, trying to free her hands from their chains. Then she heard a sword scrape out of its sheath, and saw it gleam as it slid neatly into the Great Goblin where he stood. She gave a cry of joy as she recognized the voice that spoke then, saying, "Follow me quick!"

"Gandalf!" she whispered, her face splitting into a grin of relief as she followed a pale light that doubtless came from the wizard's staff. Dori, one of the Dwarves, took Bilbo on his back so they could go faster, and they started to run after Gandalf. Arwen paused for a moment to snatch her sword from where it lay ("I'm not going anywhere without this!"), then went on after Gandalf. Before long the wizard halted them and cut through their chains with his sword. He counted them quickly, and then led them on.

It was harrowing madness, racing through the tunnels of the goblins, trying to avoid them, while all the while the goblins' pounding footsteps echoed in their ears. Arwen's heart was in her throat every time she heard the goblins behind them, and she clutched her sword-hilt tightly. Bilbo was more of a hindrance than a help, as the Dwarves had to take it in turns to carry him on their backs, which slowed them all down. Arwen flashed a look behind her and half-stifled a little scream of horror – she could see the goblins' torches licking through the darkness behind them.

Gandalf dropped behind them all, Thorin at his side. They turned a corner, and Gandalf's sword flashed free of its scabbard. Thorin pulled out his own blade, and Arwen quickly drew hers before Gandalf could stop her. The goblins raced around the corner, saw the three Elven-blades glittering with a hard shine by the light of their torches, and started screaming. Gandalf and Thorin plowed in among them, carving up the goblins that could not get away from their blades. Arwen stayed behind, standing protectively in front of the Dwarves, her sword ready. But she did not get to use it; the goblins were so terrified of Gandalf's and Thorin's swords that they didn't even try to get past them and make for the Dwarves. Barely winded, Gandalf and Thorin sheathed their swords as the goblins ran screaming into their tunnels. "Hurry!" said Gandalf in a low voice. "They will be back once they get past their fear." Arwen took his advice to heart and urged the Dwarves to run, doing likewise herself.

"Why…did they run…when they…saw…your…swords?" she panted to Gandalf as they ran.

"Glamdring and Orcrist were legendary in the goblin wars," Gandalf replied shortly. Arwen knew that tone of voice and said no more.

It seemed, once again, that they traveled forever under the ground. Arwen was beginning to think that they were never going to get out of the mountain when Dori, in the back, gave a shout. Arwen and Gandalf spun around, and Arwen let out a cry as she felt goblin fingers winding around her arm. She wrenched free, but not before the goblin bit the fleshy part of her arm. In pain and rage, she drew her sword, praying that she would not hit one of the Dwarves or Gandalf by mistake. She held out her arm, and when she felt the goblin touch it again, she swept her sword neatly through him, as she had done to practice dummies on the practice fields with her brothers. She heard the goblin let out a scream of pain, and she thrust out her arm again, but something slammed into her, and she toppled to the floor. She leaped to her feet and yelled, "Thorin, it's Arwen!" as the Dwarf made for her – in the dark, his vision was not nearly as good as hers. He checked his swing and whirled around to stab a goblin. Arwen sank into a crouch, her eyes raking the darkness, both hands gripping her sword. The hand that the goblin had bit was bleeding sluggishly.

A flash of light lit the tunnel. It assailed Arwen's eyes, now accustomed to the dark, but if it was painful to her, it was a thousand times as painful to the goblins, which lived all their lives in the dark. They screamed almost as one and fled the tunnel, their hands over their eyes. "Follow me, everyone!" shouted Gandalf's voice. Arwen shoved her sword back into its scabbard and followed the wizard and the sound of the Dwarves' boots on the tunnel floor.

They fled down the tunnels, breathing hard but making no other noise. Arwen realized that she was incredibly hungry as her stomach began to ache along with her sides. She clutched her right side with one hand and her stomach with the other and forced herself to run on.

"Over here!" called Gandalf. "There ought to be a door…" He passed his hand over the top of his staff, and the top of it lit up.

By the faint light, Arwen could see a dim outline that might be the door Gandalf spoke of. "Here!" she called as loudly as she dared, beckoning to the Dwarves.

They came over to where she stood. Gandalf looked in the direction Arwen pointed in and gave a swift nod. "That's it," he confirmed. He strode over to it, wedged his fingers between the crack between the door and the wall, and pulled it open. The Dwarves and Arwen streaked out of the door and ("Thanks be to Eru!" Arwen gasped) out of the mountain. They ran down the slope of the mountain and into one of the little dells below it, breathing hard, inhaling the clean fresh air as best they could while running.

They stopped in the dell to count their number. "Thorin," Gandalf muttered under his breath. "Balin and Dwalin, Fili and Kili, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, Oin and Gloin, Dori, Nori, and Ori, Arwen – where's Bilbo?"

Everyone started and looked around them. The hobbit was nowhere to be seen.

The Dwarves began muttering. Arwen heard Oin grumble, "Confusticate that hobbit!" and Bifur asked loudly why they had ever taken him with them in the first place.

"Well," said Gandalf, "we cannot go on without knowing whether Bilbo is dead or alive, and where he is."

Arwen pitched in – she had liked the little she had seen of the hobbit. "And if we know that, we should certainly try to rescue him!"

"He is my friend," Gandalf put in, "and I feel responsible for him. I wish to goodness you had not lost him."

"Why did we ever bring him?" Bifur repeated.

"And why couldn't he just stay with us instead of running off?" demanded Dwalin.

"Gandalf," asked Gloin, "why didn't you pick someone with more sense than Mr. Baggins?"

Ori said loudly, "He's been more trouble than use so far. If we have to go back into those tunnels to look for him, then drat him, I say."

Gandalf rounded angrily on Ori. "I brought him, and I don't bring things that are of no use! Either you help me look for him…" Gandalf continued lecturing Ori, and then moved on to Dori, chastising him for dropping Bilbo when the goblins had caught up with them. Arwen listened, wondering how long Dwarves tended to argue about a question that seemed, to her, to have a reasonable answer – that they go back to look for Bilbo. If she had not been wondering, she might have noticed something moving in the bushes nearby, but she did not.

Dori was giving a long explanation of his innocence. "…dashed out of the lower door, and helter-skelter down here. And here we are – without the burglar, confusticate him!" he finished, borrowing Gloin's expression.

"And here's the burglar!" cried a voice among them. Arwen started and jumped as Bilbo materialized out of thin air in front of them all.

The uproar and astonishment that followed nearly deafened Arwen, as all the Dwarves leaped to their feet and started yelling their shock that Bilbo was among them. Arwen herself was not exempt from that, but she noticed that when Bilbo told his story, Gandalf looked at the hobbit sharply from time to time.

Then she let herself ignore it, and listened as Bilbo told them all about how he had had a riddle contest with a creature called Gollum, who lived deep in the mountain, and how he had avoided the guards and gotten out. But as glad as she was that Bilbo was safe, Arwen couldn't help wondering why Gandalf had looked at him that way, and if there was a part of his story that the hobbit had not told them.


	8. Visiting Day

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Seven**

Snaga awoke to the bars of her cell door clanging. She started out of her woozy state, and then instantly regretted her movement – it sent fresh waves of agony rippling through her body. She lifted her head, her eyes shadowed and sick, as Ghnakh came into her cell and slammed a clay bowl of soup onto the earthen floor. Snaga reached for the spoon, and was horrified to realize that she could not even lift the utensil. With a muttered curse, Ghnakh grabbed the spoon and shoveled the soup savagely down her throat. It was hot, and it scalded her throat. She made a weak sound of protest, and got a slap for her trouble. It sent the pain ringing inside her head, and she fell limp to the floor.

Ghnakh gripped her shoulders, shoved her against the wall, and kept pushing spoonful after boiling-hot spoonful of soup into her unresisting mouth. Snaga's head lolled as the soup found its way down her throat, and she choked as some went down her windpipe. Ghnakh pounded her back until she had stopped gasping and continued to force-feed her.

_At least the food's edible,_ Snaga thought in a daze. As it began to find its way into her body, suffusing her with energy, Snaga began to open her mouth for the soup, leaning forward to swallow it, treasuring each scalding mouthful. Once Ghnakh realized, however, that she was enjoying her food, he promptly took the bowl away. A low moan escaped Snaga, and she lifted her hand weakly toward the bowl. "No more," Ghnakh said viciously, "not for you, anyway." He stood. The sight of the food going away was too much for Snaga, and she collapsed in a hopeless heap on the rough floor. The Orc kicked her in the ribs, and she curled into a ball, gasping at the pain and clutching her side. "Now _that_ is the position you should have adopted when My Lord offered you his gift," Ghnakh sneered. "A bit slow, aren't we, Elf?" He moved away. "Anyway, you have a visitor, who will be quite happy to see you in that position, so I've no wish to move you." He opened the door and stepped out of the room. Someone else walked in.

_Please,_ thought Snaga desperately, _not Sauron. I can bear anyone but him, even now, please not him!_ She heard footsteps in the room and sighed convulsively with relief. Sauron had no body. He could not be her visitor.

"Get up, snaga." The voice was cold, female, and all too familiar.

_I was wrong,_ Snaga thought, summoning what remained of her strength. _I can bear anyone but Sauron and her. But who else would come to see me?_ Somehow she knew that the word 'snaga' on Galadwen's lips was the word in Black Speech, not meant as her name. All she could manage was to lift her head and look up at her mother. She blinked up at her, then spat weakly on the dirt at Galadwen's feet.

Galadwen gripped her by the hair, hauling her upright. She struck Snaga twice, once on each cheek. Snaga's head snapped back and forth with each blow, offering no resistance. With a curse of annoyance, Galadwen dropped her daughter's head. Snaga forced herself to stay up, to brace herself against the wall, to meet her mother's eyes. "Well?" she asked, seeing no reason to mince words. "What do you want from me?"

A smirk twisted Galadwen's mouth. "Firstly, look at me, granddaughter of Galadriel." Snaga looked at her, dimly registering the name that she had never heard before. Galadwen was clothed in black, with hints of red in her gown, but that was nothing new. What was different was the diadem on her golden hair and the gold ring set with a dense black stone on the ring finger of her right hand. "Do you know what I am?"

Snaga gave a smile, no less savage for being weak. "You are my mother."

Galadwen struck her again. "I am no longer your mother!" she crowed. "I am the Dark Lady, the Consort of the Lord of Mordor!"

"I thought that dubious honor was to be mine, Mother," Snaga murmured, knowing she would be hit and savoring her rebellion. _Let her kill me,_ Snaga thought. _Let her kill me and then answer to her precious Lord of Mordor for it, and let her writhe under his hand! Please, let me die!_

But Galadwen stayed her hand. "It was to be so, granddaughter of Galadriel, but you let it slip through your fingers." She held up the hand that bore Darya, crying gleefully, "Now it is mine, as it should have been when I arrived here! But I was blinded by youth, and what I thought was love." An insane light was in her eyes. "Elrond and Celebrian can have their precious Homely House for as long as it suits me to let them have it! It will be mine one day! Mine and Sauron's!" She let out a high-pitched cry that shattered into Snaga's ears; she clapped her hands over her ears and tried to shut out her mother's mad laugh. Galadwen seemed to have forgotten Snaga's presence; she laughed on, her voice cracking and reaching a pitch that made Snaga scream with agony. Then Galadwen looked down at her. "Oh, yes," she murmured softly. "I forgot you were here."

Snaga lifted her head and gazed blearily at her mother. "You are mad," she choked, her voice rasping in her throat. "You are mad, and you don't even see it."

Galadwen lifted her hand. Snaga braced herself, her entire face quivering in readiness for the blow, but it never fell. Galadwen dropped her hand, still smirking. "And you should never have been born," she replied savagely. "You do not know the value of power or freedom. That is what we experienced here, _snaga,_ true freedom from all save the greatest power in all Middle-earth! But you were fool enough to throw it away. You are no daughter of mine. Let Galadriel claim you, let Celebrian try to take you as her own – oh, wait." A hideously ecstatic light suffused Galadwen's face. "I forgot, My Lord told me when I agreed to be his consort – Celebrian is gone."

"You still hate her." Snaga realized that she was the one speaking. _Don't be a fool, she'll get furious._ Her stupid voice spoke on. "You haven't yet gotten over the fact that Elrond would rather have had her than you. He saw you for what you are, and what you are is absolutely insane, Mother. You could never forgive him, and you have not yet gotten over it. Don't try to fool me, I've lived with you for more than a thousand years, and _I can tell._ I don't think you'll ever stop hating him – or yourself."

Galadwen screamed in rage. She reached out and snatched Snaga by the throat, holding her up from the neck while striking her everywhere she could, digging her long fingernails through the cloth of Snaga's dress to score bleeding lines on her daughter's skin. Snaga hung, limp and choking after the first few blows, in her grasp, praying to any being who might possibly hear the plea of an Elf in Mordor to, this time, let her die. But the prayer was not granted – Galadwen finally threw her to the ground, a few inches from death again, kicked her savagely, and stormed out of the cell.

Snaga had heard something clatter to the ground as Galadwen left the dungeon. Bleeding from a plethora of small cuts, her head shaken, her insides rattling, Snaga forced herself to her knees and reached for the thing.

It was her dagger.

Galadwen must have taken to wearing it, and it had fallen from wherever she kept it when she had kicked her. Snaga ran her fingers down the leather sheath, curled them slowly into a grip around the hilt, and drew the blade. She felt her stiff features curve into the beginnings of a smile.

She would probably never get her sword back – Sauron and Galadwen would have had her room searched the moment she was thrown in the cell, and the beautiful Elven sword was doubtlessly long gone – but she still had her dagger, the weapon that had been her companion since the day she stumbled upon the armory. Two fingers glided down the smooth surface of the blade. Two other fingers, belonging to her enemy, had been severed by this same dagger, severed by her hand in her own defense. Both the weapon and she herself were blooded now. She was a warrior, and it was a weapon worthy of one.

_I should try to find another dagger somewhere,_ Snaga thought as she slid the dagger back into its sheath and strapped it with fingers that still knew how to do it to her belt and underneath her dress. _I heard Mother mentioning once that Elves fight with two daggers. I wonder if I could do the same._

The next day, Ghnakh came again with the bowl of soup. Snaga had made herself stay awake last night for as long as it took to form a plan for survival. She slumped against the wall, staring at the Orc with weary eyes. Ghnakh pushed her mouth open and began to shovel the soup down her throat. Snaga welcomed it, swallowing the hot food as eagerly as she could without being obvious doing such a thing. She made her eyes stay glassy, and only when she had had more than enough did she pretend to start actively swallowing. As she had expected, Ghnakh instantly took the bowl away and made for the door.

Snaga slumped back against the stone wall, her eyes brighter than they had been for weeks. She had gotten nourishment, and had been awake enough to sense and welcome it. She licked the last drops of soup off of her lips and drew the dagger through the slit in her dress. She held it as tightly as her weakened hand could, and moved her wrist up and down. She was shocked when she dropped the dagger after the third wrist elevation. _I didn't think I was this weak,_ she thought inanely. She bent down, scooped the dagger up, and slid it carefully back into the sheath, the sheath's cold metal tip a comforting, familiar presence against her leg. Snaga touched the hilt for comfort, her fingertips brushing the pommel. She wondered who Galadriel was. It seemed clear enough that she was Galadwen's mother.

_Wait for me a little while longer, grandmother,_ Snaga thought, feeling a rising spark in her that had been missing since she was thrown in here. _Wait for me to recover, and then I will come to you._ The world did not seem so bleak now that she had a purpose in life. _Wait for me, and then I will prove to you that I am strong._ Snaga smiled a real smile. She had a plan.

_Author's Note: I apologize for taking so long to get this up! The next chapter will come more quickly. :)_


	9. Travels With Gandalf

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Eight**

Arwen reined in her horse, looking doubtfully at the forest of Mirkwood, lying stretched before her. The days leading up to their arrival there had not been pleasant, and she hoped fervently that Gandalf would decide to leave the Dwarves and progress to Mordor now. He had said a few days ago that he would leave them soon.

_A lot has happened in those few days,_ Arwen thought with a half-smile. After they made it out of the mountains and found Bilbo again, they had been attacked by Wargs, and snatched out of the jaws of death by eagles. Then they had stayed with Beorn, the – well, Arwen admitted to herself, it was hard to describe exactly what Beorn was. He was Beorn, when it came to that. He had lent the Dwarves and Bilbo ponies, and Arwen and Gandalf horses. Arwen hoped that she would not have to take her horse through Mirkwood. For that matter, she hoped that she would not have to take herself through Mirkwood. It was a great Elven kingdom, to be sure, but it didn't look like the sort of place she really wanted to be.

She bit her lip when Gandalf said, "Well, here is Mirkwood, the greatest of the forests of the northern world." That did not sound too promising.

Gandalf and the Dwarves proceeded to have another of their arguments – this one about sending Beorn's ponies back – but Arwen paid attention to this one when Thorin demanded, "You don't mention sending the horse back."

"I don't because I am not sending it," Gandalf replied. Arwen expelled a quiet sigh of relief. They were going to leave the Dwarves and make their way to Mordor. The Dwarves were not so relieved – they set up a cry of protest. Gandalf cut in briskly. "We had this all out before. It is no use arguing. Arwen and I have, as I told you, some pressing business away south, and we are already late." Arwen felt a flush of pleasure that Gandalf would include her with him in the number of people who had business with her cousin. "We will leave tomorrow morning," he told her. "Make ready."

The next morning dawned as clear as it could near Mirkwood. Arwen had repacked her bags carefully the night before and strapped them onto her horse. Gandalf was ready and mounted as she quickly said her farewells to the Dwarves, grabbed a bite of breakfast, and swung lightly onto her horse. She checked that her sword was securely tied to the saddle before she nodded. Gandalf clucked to his horse and nudged it onward – Arwen followed him.

Gandalf said nothing for the first leg of the day's ride. Arwen thought he might be angry with her, or with himself for letting her come. She kept silent, not wanting to intrude on his thoughts, and directed her attention to their course and the length of their journey. It would be a long one. Mirkwood was about halfway between Rivendell and Mordor. It would be a very long ride. Arwen was already starting to hurt in certain places from sitting on a horse all day. Not wanting to seem like a spoiled baby, she said nothing of it.

When the sun was high overhead, Arwen assumed that they would stop for lunch. Gandalf, however, rode straight on, giving no sign at all that food was in order. Arwen swallowed and brought the subject up herself after an hour had passed since Arwen would normally eat lunch. "Ah…Gandalf…shouldn't we stop and eat something?"

"No," Gandalf replied. "We should conserve our food. We don't have a lot."

"Oh," Arwen whispered, feeling stupid. Why hadn't she realized that? She bit her tongue and said no more for the rest of the ride. Neither did Gandalf.

They made their camp, still silent, after it was dark. Arwen put up the tent while Gandalf made the meal. She had the sense that Gandalf didn't want her wasting any more food than was necessary, and felt a bit sullen, too. She ate her nicely-cooked food without saying anything, knowing that she was sulking and unable to stop. When she was done, she crawled into the tent, wrapped herself in blankets, and fell asleep instantly.

The next morning, she got up resolved to be more cheerful than she had been the day before. She rolled up her blankets, being careful not to wake Gandalf, slipped out of the tent, and made breakfast. The smell of the food cooking made Arwen smile. She had only used a little of their supply and felt quite proud of herself for having done so.

Gandalf seemed to think so too; he ate his breakfast with relish and helped her take down the tent before he mounted up. Arwen felt sure enough of his mood to ask, "How long do you think it will be before we get there?"

Gandalf sighed. "A long time, Arwen," he told her. "And then we need to find out if what I have heard is true."

"About my cousin." Arwen kept her voice steady, but her heart was beating hard. She still could barely believe that she had a cousin who was being raised in Mordor.

"Yes." The wizard's voice was heavy and sad. He turned in his saddle to face her. "Arwen, I do not know what we will face when we get there. I do not even know whether or not your cousin wants to be Sauron's consort." He gave a laugh that was halfway between a bark and a sob. "But I will say this." He smiled ruefully at her. "I am grateful to have company."

Arwen felt tears rise up in her eyes. He was glad that she was there. She swallowed them down and smiled back. "I'm grateful to be coming," she replied.

They rode more easily after that, talking along the way. Arwen was glad that Gandalf said nothing about returning her to Lothlorien when they were near it, and repaid him by telling jokes and stories when he grew weary or seemed overly sad. The jokes, though, grew less in number as they approached Mordor. They rode down from Mirkwood towards the Ered Lithui, the mountain range that enclosed Mordor.

They kept silent and still all through their crossing of the Ered Lithui. Gandalf was unwilling to light any fire, no matter how small, for fear of alerting possible Orc-guards, so they ate their food cold and uncooked. Arwen threw up after her first bite of raw meat. Gandalf held her head, gave her a sip of water from the waterskin, and told her, "You'll get used to it." Staring at him in shock and outright doubt, Arwen held off on the meat for that night.

The next night, however, her stomach was aching, and there was nothing for it but to gulp and eat raw meat. She managed to eat a whole piece of the meat before diving for the waterskin. Gandalf patted her on the back. "You're doing well," he approved. Arwen, her face whitish-green, rolled her eyes at him, making the wizard laugh.

And so, with one thing and another, they came to the Land of Shadow.

* * *

"How are we going to get in there?" Arwen asked, staring up at the tower of Dol Guldur. It was black and seemed almost impenetrable. She shivered looking at it. _Somewhere in there is the being that is pure evil, that started and lost a war._ She looked at Gandalf. "Is there any way we _can_ get in there?" 

"I wouldn't have brought you if I couldn't get us both in," Gandalf replied. He showed no signs of doing anything, however, but merely stayed hidden behind the boulder they crouched behind. He saw Arwen open her mouth to ask what that way was and held up his hand. "No questions. I do have a plan."

Then he stood up and, in plain view of the Orc guards of Dol Guldur, sent up a shower of sparks from his staff. Arwen gasped in fright and reached out to yank him back down and out of sight, but he stepped nimbly away and sent up more sparks, yelling wordlessly as he did so. Arwen saw Orcs rush from the parapet and into the tower, shrieking in glee. "What have you _done_?" she hissed, almost in tears.

"Assured our entrance into Dol Guldur," Gandalf said calmly.

"As corpses!" Arwen was really in tears now, crying in anger and fright. "Was there absolutely no other –"

"Hush!" Gandalf's hand was suddenly flung up, his face turned towards the tower. A smile, of all things, crept over his face. "Arwen, draw your sword," he said, barely moving his lips, and his hand fell to Glamdring's hilt. He forestalled more panicky words from her with a withering glance. "Do as I say." Her hands shaking as she gripped her blade, Arwen obeyed.

Two Orcs emerged from the tower, racing toward the upright figure of Gandalf. "Stay there," Gandalf told her, "until I give the word." He stared resolutely at the approaching Orcs, exultation on their ugly faces. "Not yet…not yet…" They were drawing close now, so close that Arwen could see the iron rings piercing their nostrils. She shuddered and held her sword tighter. _"Now!"_ Gandalf cried, suddenly whipping Glamdring from its scabbard and swinging it at the nearest Orc. Arwen leaped up from behind the stone and thrust her sword into the other Orc's side. He gasped in shock and fell, his eyes open, his hand still holding his own crude weapon. Arwen dropped her sword and stared, wide-eyed, at the Orc, the first creature she had killed and seen die. She felt shaky; her legs would not support her. She fell to her knees, unable to take her eyes off the dead Orc. Her hands were shaking – her whole body was shaking. Her stomach ached. The world was spinning before her eyes and going hazy and dull. The only solid thing in it was that dead Orc…

The next thing she knew, she was clutching Gandalf's hand and throwing up onto the barren land. She took heaving breaths in between her periods of straight retching, clutching her aching stomach, her eyes smarting, feeling worse than she had ever felt in her whole life. After what seemed like the entirety of the Third Age, she had nothing left in her, and sat back, her eyes closed, trying to expel the shakiness from her body. Gandalf brought the waterskin over, and she took deep drinks from it, grateful for the water.

Finally she stood up, wavering a little on her feet, but feeling better. She wiped her sword, stained with black Orc blood, on the ground, and put it back in the sheath. "Thank you," she whispered to Gandalf.

He took her hand and squeezed it. Grateful again for the comfort, Arwen smiled weakly up at him. He let go and said, "Sit down. I'll strip the bodies."

"What?" Arwen shook her head to clear it. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, _I'll_ take the armor off the Orcs. _You_ can sit down and recover yourself more."

The shaky feeling was back in her knees again. Arwen sat, taking deep breaths to calm herself, feeling even sicker at the thought of wearing something belonging to the creature she had just killed. "I can't," she whispered weakly.

"This is my plan, Arwen, and it was my plan even before I let you come. You can." Gandalf turned to his Orc and, hauling the body behind the boulder, began to strip it of its armor.

When all was said and done, Arwen was clad in her Orc's armor and helmet, his weapons strapped to her sides, her own blade hidden under a flap of the armor. She felt like a traitor to be wearing it, but she gritted her teeth and did as Gandalf asked. He had to teach her to walk like an Orc, and even then she moved with an innate Elvish grace. "And what if an Orc asks me a question?" she asked. "I don't know a word of Black Speech!"

"I'll say that your tongue was cut out when you disobeyed orders once," Gandalf said easily. "Let's go, before we waste any more time."

Arwen followed Gandalf into the tower, feeling more ill at ease with every step she took, and wishing that she had never left Rivendell.

_Author's Note: Please be tolerant of the obvious geographical errors in this fic! I mentioned it at the start, but I'll say it again - I wrote this before I knew that Dol Guldur was in Mirkwood, not in Mordor. I thought about fixing it when I started to post it here, but I couldn't think of a better title. Please just pretend it's in Mordor! eek_


	10. Meetings in the Dark

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Nine**

Gandalf kept a hand on Arwen's arm as they went into Dol Guldur. Arwen tried not to stare around at the crudely made tower. "What now?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth.

"Now we see what we can find out about the Necromancer," Gandalf replied.

"What about my cousin?"

"This is more important. She comes later." Gandalf led Arwen to a guard post that was vacant. "Stay here. I'll be back shortly." To Arwen's horror, he left her at the wall and melted into the crowd of Orcs milling about. She stared resolutely out at the land, not making eye contact with any of the Orcs, afraid that they would speak to her if she did. Unfortunately, one Orc came to stand beside her and grunted something in utterly incomprehensible Black Speech. Arwen ignored him, hoping that he was not in charge of the Orcs here.

He repeated himself, waving his arms in a shooing motion, his face twisting into a growl. Arwen noticed as he waved his arms that his right hand was missing two fingers. The wound seemed recent, and had not healed cleanly – the stumps on his hands were greenish, and the flesh was mortifying. Arwen turned away from the Orc, hoping that he would not persist and that it was all right to refuse him if he did.

The Orc grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. Arwen barely remembered to keep her helmet on, lest her hair spill out of it and give the lie to her disguise. The Orc shouted in her face, and she held her breath and tried not to wince at the smell of his.

Behind her, she heard a voice cut in sharply. The words it said were in Black Speech, but there was no mistaking Gandalf's voice. Arwen sagged in relief and pulled free of the Orc's three-fingered hand, turning gladly to face Gandalf. The wizard finished his sharp speech to the Orc and pulled her away from the guard post.

"All right," he said. "I think I've heard enough. Two Orcs were talking about the Dark Lord taking a consort. I don't think anyone but Sauron would dare call himself Dark Lord, but your cousin may be beyond our aid now."

Arwen stared at him. "But you said – you said that my aunt was here too! He might have taken her instead! We have to try!" She swallowed. "Let me go back to the guard post. You can ask some Orcs if his consort has a daughter. If she does, then I think it's clear who the consort is."

"And if she does not?" Gandalf asked quietly.

Arwen lifted her chin. "Then I have no cousin."

Gandalf nodded once. "So be it. Go back." He took her back to the post and had a few sharp words with the Orc who had threatened her. The Orc grumbled and shot Arwen a look of hatred, but she ignored him as before and went back to staring blankly at the terrain.

_The Dark Lord is taking a consort…_ Arwen shivered inside the heavy Orc armor. It couldn't be true! This entire journey, she had thought wistfully of having a cousin, a girl cousin, who might come back to Rivendell with her and be her friend. She couldn't have become Sauron's consort. It couldn't have happened.

If it had, if an Elf could be corrupted, it meant that not even Rivendell was safe enough anymore, and that was too frightening to even think about.

After an eternity of waiting, Arwen felt the familiar touch on her shoulder and turned around to see Gandalf's blue eyes looking at her from under an Orc helmet. He glanced at the Orc who had shook Arwen and asked him something terse in Black Speech. Arwen watched their faces closely, biting her lip so hard that she tasted blood. Gandalf nodded once and pulled Arwen away, back into the corner they had spoken in before. "Well?" Arwen asked.

Gandalf clapped Arwen on the back. "I should take an Elf along on every trip I make," he said. "Their hunches always seem to prove right. I heard that not only does Sauron's consort have a daughter, but that the consort's name is Galadwen. That was the name of Galadriel's elder daughter." Arwen exhaled loudly in relief. "But I heard something else from that Orc who was next to you. His name is Shaglush, and apparently he was your cousin's tutor. He said that she cut off his fingers and that Sauron threw her into his dungeons, making her mother his consort rather than her." He paused. "He would not give me her name."

At the moment, Arwen would not have cared if her cousin had grown up answering to "Hey, you!" What was important – all that mattered, at the moment – was that her cousin was in a definite location and out of favor with Sauron. She felt dizzy with relief. "Let's go find her!" she whispered.

"Arwen!" Gandalf grabbed her by the arm. "Listen to me. You cannot simply walk into Dol Guldur and set free a prisoner of Sauron! We need a plan."

"What if," Arwen said, thinking out loud, "we went down there, killed a guard" – she swallowed – "and gave my cousin his armor to wear? Then it would be three Orcs leaving Dol Guldur – we could even make up a pretense, a reason to leave – but as soon as we were out of their sight, we'd get out of the Orc armor and ride as fast as we possibly could for Rivendell?"

Gandalf thought for a moment. "You know, Arwen," he said thoughtfully, "I think that just might work."

It had seemed so perfect on the tower parapet, but once she was actually in the dungeons of Dol Guldur, Arwen saw numerous flaws in her plan. The first one was that she hated the dungeons. They were wet, slimy, and echoing. Every word she whispered bounced off the walls and raced down the tunnels. The second was that she had absolutely no idea how to get around in the tunnels, and relied solely on Gandalf to guide her. The third was that after half an hour of crawling around in pitch black darkness, searching for one cell, she was absolutely terrified.

Gandalf straightened up suddenly. Arwen saw it too – a pinpoint of light approaching at a fast clip. He brushed her hand with his own, and Arwen understood his plan the moment that he walked up to the Orc carrying the torch and asked something in Black Speech. _I never thought I'd want to learn the tongue of Mordor,_ Arwen thought, a little amused, as the Orc led them along the tunnels, walking quickly and surely. He halted in front of a large cell and pulled out a ring of keys. Finding the one he wanted, he unlocked the door. Gandalf nodded graciously and caught Arwen's eyes.

At the look, Arwen silently drew her sword, creeping around behind the Orc. She gritted her teeth, drew back her blade, and slid it efficiently through the Orc – and caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes blazing with anger over his shoulder. Surprised, she pulled her sword out of the dying Orc, forgetting the proper twist upward to ensure that he was dead, and stared at the Elf girl, her long golden hair tangled, her face dirty, and her eyes alight with the chance at freedom.

She was even more surprised when the girl wrenched free her knife from the Orc's body and lifted it again, aiming at Arwen.

"_Stop!"_ Gandalf's command shattered the silence. The Elf froze, her dagger still raised. "Arwen, take off your helmet," he went on, more quietly. "She thinks we're Orcs."

Arwen dropped her sword and tugged the helmet off. Her black hair spilled down around her face. "Hello," she said in Sindarin, holding out a hand. "My name is Arwen."

Gandalf removed his helmet to show his gray hair and his face. "I am Gandalf the Grey," he said quickly. "You are Galadwen's daughter, are you not?"

The Elf girl flinched. "She wouldn't say so," she replied. _The first words I've heard my cousin say,_ Arwen thought. "My name is Snaga."

Gandalf's eyes widened. At Arwen's uncomprehending look, she added, "It means slave in Black Speech."

"No Elf is a slave," Arwen said, taking her hand. "We've come to get you out of here."

Snaga's eyes were the ones that widened then, and she opened her mouth as though she were about to say something, but nothing came out. She felt tears behind her eyes, but blinked them back. "Thank you," she managed finally.

"Quick, put on his armor," Arwen urged, nodding at the dead Orc they'd both killed. "You're going to be disguised as an Orc, like us. That's how we'll get out."

Snaga quickly stripped the Orc of his armor. Arwen saw her wince as she put it on, but other than that, she gave no sign of disliking the armor. However, she did mutter, "I suppose it would be too much to expect of Ghnakh that he keep his armor clean." Arwen averted her eyes from the naked body on the floor – having a name put to the Orc made what she had done seem more like murder than a necessary killing.

"Come on," Gandalf whispered, fumbling with his helmet with one hand and holding the torch in the other. "We will not have much time." He handed Arwen the torch, pulled his helmet on, and took it back from her. She put her own helmet on, grabbed Snaga's hand so they wouldn't get separated, and followed Gandalf's faint torchlight through the otherwise dark tunnel.


	11. Decisions of Battle

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Ten**

Snaga flinched when they came out of the dungeons, and only Arwen's hand in hers prevented her from throwing her arm up to shield her eyes. She kept her head down and her eyes on the stones of the tower at her feet, trying not to act as though the sun were driving little spikes into her eyeballs, which was exactly what it felt like to finally get out of perpetual dark. Arwen squeezed her hand sympathetically.

Snaga did not know what to make of Arwen. She had never met another Elf her age, but it was so good to see a friendly face – two because of Gandalf – that she felt willing to trust them. She felt her dagger's sheath brush her leg beneath Ghnakh's armor. Up until now, that had been the only thing apart from herself that she had trusted. It felt good to trust people.

They approached the wall. "What now?" Snaga asked Arwen under her breath.

"Now I suppose we wait for an excuse to leave Dol Guldur inconspicuously," Arwen whispered back. Snaga nodded. Waiting was not her strong point, but Arwen and Gandalf seemed to know what they were doing. She sighed and settled in for a long wait. Hardly anything happened in the area around Dol Guldur.

The Orc next to them looked at Snaga, looked away, and then back again. "Ghnakh!" he exclaimed. "Back from the dungeons already?"

Snaga froze. Of course. She was wearing Ghnakh's armor; naturally they would mistake her for him. She gave a terse nod and a quick reply in Black Speech before realizing that the Orc beside her was Shaglush, that he knew her faint Elvish accent by heart, and that they would not be able to leave the tower inconspicuously.

Shaglush frowned. Snaga put pressure on Arwen's hand, catching her eye and jerking her head at Shaglush. Arwen frowned too. Snaga tried to mouth, "Trouble," but Shaglush caught her by the shoulders and spun her around. His three-fingered hand touched her, and she could barely bite back a feral grin of delight.

Then all traces of it vanished from her face as his hands awoke painful spots on her body, and as they reached up and yanked the helmet off her head. Her hair fell down around her face. Snaga heard Arwen's indrawn hiss of breath. Shaglush stared, uncomprehending, for a moment at her, and then it dawned on him in an instant. He ripped a length of metal from the belt at his side, screaming in wordless rage.

"Arwen, Gandalf, get back!" Snaga yelled, shoving them behind her as she obeyed her own advice and drew her dagger. She ducked his first swing, which flew shy of her by ten feet, and twisted around to face him, scoring a line down his arm with a lucky slash. "I took two fingers before," she taunted in Black Speech, circling him. "Maybe this time I'll take the whole hand."

"What did you do to Ghnakh?" Shaglush screamed shrilly. "Is he lying in pieces?" He leaped for her. Her wounds made it less easy for her to move, and he caught her side, slamming the metal bar into her ribs. With a cry, Snaga heard something fall out of place in her body. She gasped for a breath. "Did you cut off his fingers?" Spit was flying from Shaglush's mouth.

"She stripped his body and left it by her cell door," said a cold voice behind Snaga, a voice she barely recognized as Arwen's. The Elf girl and Gandalf were standing behind her, their swords out. "Hope that she kills you quickly and leaves your body where it falls." A blur of Orcish armor, topped by a cloud of dark hair, leaped past Snaga, and Arwen's sword flashed as she quickly forced Shaglush to the edge of the parapet. Gandalf came to her side, helping her fend off the blows of the Orc.

Snaga saw, as neither of them did, Shaglush's fingers curl around his whip handle. "Get back!" she cried in anguish. "Get back, he's got a whip!"

They did, leaping away as Shaglush's whip snaked through the air where they had just been. Heaving a sigh of relief, Snaga got to her feet and came as fast as she could toward them. "We have to get out!" she called in Sindarin above the clangs of swords and dagger on iron.

"Get rid of him first!" Gandalf shouted back, parrying a thrust.

Shaglush drew back his whip. With a yell, Arwen hurled her sword not at his whip, but at the arm that held it. It spun through the air and sliced the limb cleanly off. She sprang forward and grabbed her sword from the fast-growing pool of black blood. Snaga cheered as Shaglush let out a high-pitched shriek and threw himself bodily at them. Snaga lifted her knife, and his throat fell onto it. She pulled it sideways, making sure she cut it, then pulled her knife free of Shaglush and let him fall, breathing hard.

Then Arwen was at her side, helping her stand, hauling her to the parapet so she could take several deep breaths and regain herself. "Thank you," Snaga whispered.

"You're better than me," Arwen laughed. "I threw up. You just breathe." Snaga laughed, too, and then they turned around and found Gandalf holding off all the Orcs on the parapet with sword, staff, and sorcery, while the Orcs pressed in at them, trying to force them off the parapet.

Off the parapet…Snaga grabbed Arwen's hand and yelled, so Gandalf could hear her too. "We can climb down the tower! There are all kinds of places to hold on to!" Gandalf spared a glance over his shoulder to nod at her.

Arwen lifted her sword. "Go," she said to Snaga. "I'll help Gandalf." She gave Snaga a little shove towards the parapet. "Go!" she cried. "We'll hold them off until you're down!"

Snaga obeyed her, swinging her legs over the tower edge and thanking her lucky stars that she had forced herself to come here every day until she was no longer afraid of heights. She let herself down over the parapet rim, climbing slowly and carefully, hearing the sounds of Arwen and Gandalf's battle above. Combat had weakened her body, and more than once she missed a handhold and slipped, grabbing madly with one hand while she swung in midair by the other. By the time she let herself drop the last three feet to the ground, she wanted nothing more than to collapse and go to sleep, to let rest heal her and make her ready for the day.

"I'm down!" Snaga yelled up at the tower, but she knew they wouldn't hear her. She grabbed a rock from the ground and threw it hard at the top of the tower. Amazingly, it cleared the parapet, and Snaga had to wait only a few moments before she saw Arwen's dark head over the edge and saw her swing her own legs over the parapet and begin the climb down.

She turned around and froze. Someone was standing in front of her. _How did she get down here so fast?_ Snaga wondered disjointedly as she stared at the woman clad all in black, the woman whose golden hair was blowing behind her, the woman whose red eyes were glinting with malice, the woman on whose right hand sat a gold ring set with a dense black stone, the ring that Snaga had thrown upon the floor of Sauron's chamber in the tower. Her hand groped for her dagger, but she knew that she was not strong enough to fight the Dark Lord's consort.

"Hello, Snaga," said Galadwen.

Snaga was still staring. "How did you…how did you get down here so fast?" she asked, voicing her thoughts.

Galadwen smirked. "I knew Ghnakh was dead. I felt it. I had bound him to me by blood, to be able to make sure he wasn't too kind to you when he fed you, so I felt it when he died. I came down here and waited."

Snaga swallowed. "And what do you plan to do now that you're here?"

"What I have always planned, since the day you refused Darya," Galadwen answered, her eyes dancing mirthlessly. She needed to say nothing more. "And then, of course, take care of those other two who helped you get out. Does that answer your question?" She turned her face up to where Arwen was slowly and laboriously making her way down the side of Dol Guldur, her back to Snaga, oblivious to her danger. Galadwen's eyes narrowed as she looked at Arwen carefully, her Elven eyes straining to pick out details of her face. Suddenly she gasped and took a few steps back. A shocked and ruthless smile was twisting her mouth. "Celebrian's daughter," she hissed. "Then she will have to be first." Galadwen held the hand with Darya on it into the air and began shouting wildly in Black Speech. Snaga could almost see the tongues of fire that Galadwen was calling from thin air by the power of her ring, could almost see them racing for Arwen, catching her on the wall, burning her instantly.

If Arwen was Celebrian's daughter, then she was Snaga's cousin.

Galadwen was laughing, a rasping cackling laugh that burbled from somewhere in her stomach. The flames were beginning to take shape. Snaga looked at her mother and caught her eye. Galadwen laughed louder. "You don't want to see it, do you?" she whispered gleefully.

With the meager reserves of the weak strength she had left, Snaga clenched her teeth, raised her bloodstained dagger, and stabbed it into Galadwen's heart.

* * *

Snaga never knew what happened afterwards. She had a vague recollection of standing mutely over Galadwen's body until Arwen came down and pulled her away from it, but that was all she could ever remember. For the rest, she had to depend on Arwen and Gandalf's account of the following events – how they had raced back to where they had left the horses, Snaga stumbling in their wake, how they had quickly hauled off the heavy Orc armor, and ridden away as fast as they could, Snaga behind Arwen, clinging dumbly to her cousin's waist. It was not until later, when she had regained her senses, that she told them about Galadwen and what she had almost done. Arwen and Gandalf were silent for the rest of the night after she told them.

They struggled through the marshes and the Emyn Muil, their path turning towards the Anduin River. Snaga had blindly followed them for a long time, but finally she asked Arwen, "Where are we going?"

"To Lothlorien," Arwen answered. "Galadriel lives there. She's my – our – grandmother." She touched Snaga's hand gently. "I think she'll be happy to see you."

Snaga said nothing, but her heart lightened. Galadwen had spoken of her mother with contempt and not a little hatred – surely she couldn't be bad. She smiled a little as Arwen turned her horse to the side and set its head for the Anduin.


	12. Journey to Lothlorien

The journey through Rohan and Gondor was as uneventful as it had been when Arwen and Gandalf had made it alone. Snaga was silent for much of the time, thinking over and over of Galadwen, her face, her voice when she had been about to kill Arwen. _She was my mother,_ Snaga thought, her emotions conflicting wildly. _She was evil, she was insane, and she was my mother. I exist because of her. She made me. She made me, and I killed her._

_But she was going to kill Arwen!_ Snaga blinked fiercely to shove the impending tears away. _She was going to kill Arwen for no other reason than who her mother was, and I couldn't let her do that._ She looked at Arwen, riding beside her, her beautiful cousin who would have died without knowing who did it or why, and she thought she might be able to forgive herself.

"You'll like Lothlorien," Arwen said suddenly, turning to face her. "It's beautiful – Elves call it the Golden Wood. And I know Galadriel will like you." She smiled at Snaga. "I did run away from here, but only because I'd had enough of the formalities here."

Snaga smiled back. She wanted to believe Arwen, wanted desperately to have her cousin's words be true, but knew they couldn't be. If there were formalities in this place, she would not know them. She would be the clumsy barbarian Elf, having to learn by ear the customs of her people. She hoped they would not stay for long.

That night, over dinner, Gandalf announced, "We are near to Lothlorien. I will see you to the border of Lady Galadriel's realm, but then I must leave you both." Snaga's head snapped up in shock as the wizard continued. "I have spent too long away from my original quest as it is, and I should like to see it played out."

"We can manage," Arwen said. "Galadriel will give us an escort, if we need it."

"Good," Gandalf replied. He stared into their fire, apparently lost in his thoughts.

Arwen saw the apprehensive look on Snaga's face. "Don't worry," she whispered, "I made the trip back to Rivendell from Lothlorien once by myself. The two of us can surely make it with an escort of Lorien Elves." Snaga nodded, taking some comfort from Arwen's words.

The next morning, they rose early and took down the camp. Snaga covered up the fire while Arwen packed and Gandalf took down their tent. Then they loaded up their two horses, obtained in Rohan, and rode for the Golden Wood.

At its borders, Gandalf pulled his horse to a halt. "Farewell," he said, giving them each a smile. "I will see you both in Rivendell."

"Namarie," Arwen called after him as he rode away. Snaga echoed her cousin.

Then she turned to face Arwen. "Is this it?" she asked, nodding her head towards the woods rising in front of them.

Arwen smiled, a look of happy expectancy on her face. "That's Lothlorien, up there." She nudged the horse they shared forward. "Let's go."

Nervous as she was about entering Elven society, Snaga couldn't help but be awed by the beauty of Lothlorien. The wood rose up around them to touch the sky, and it shimmered with a faint gold light. She relaxed as Arwen deftly guided their horse through the smooth paths, feasting her eyes on the beauty before her.

Arwen pulled the horse up. Snaga looked at her and started to ask, "What –"

"Shh," Arwen whispered, leaning forward, her ears pricked. Then she sat back with a grin and called, "Haldir! It's me, it's Arwen! You can come out from behind the trees now."

With what might almost have been a rueful smile, an Elf materialized from behind a huge mallorn. Snaga practically jumped, feeling annoyed that she had let her mind wander so much that she hadn't been able to sense his presence. "Lady Galadriel was not expecting you back so soon," he said.

"I was not expecting to be back so soon myself," Arwen replied calmly, "but I am here. Is my grandmother – does she know we're here?"

"She knows," Haldir assured her. "Did you think she would not?"

Arwen straightened, suddenly seeming much more like the Elven princess she was. "My cousin and I must see her immediately."

Haldir's eyes widened. "Your cousin? Is that Galadwen's –" He broke off. "Of course. Do you need an escort?"

Arwen shook her head. "I can find the way to Caras Galadhon on my own, but thank you." She nudged the horse forward, and Haldir stepped aside to let them pass. "The Marchwarden of Lothlorien," she explained once she and Snaga were out of earshot. "He does an excellent job, but he also slows up some of the ordinary travel – like what just happened with us." Snaga giggled.

Arwen turned out to be an excellent guide. Snaga had questions about everything ("What are those huge trees called?"), and Arwen was more than happy to educate her cousin about Lothlorien and Elven customs. But even Snaga, who wanted to know as much as she could so as not to make a complete fool of herself, fell silent when Arwen pulled their horse to a halt and nodded ahead of them, where Caras Galadhon, the city in the trees, materialized before their eyes. "It's so _beautiful,_" Snaga whispered.

She glanced at Arwen as she, too, let out a sigh. Arwen's face was lit up from the inside, and a happy smile was on her face. Snaga felt herself smiling as well, if only because of the beauty of the city. "Come on," Arwen said softly. She nudged the horse forward, and he trotted gently toward Caras Galadhon.


	13. Of Meetings and Midnight Whispers

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Twelve**

Galadriel, the Lady of the Golden Wood, was sitting by the window of her flet and musing when the knock came on her door. It startled her out of her memories, and she got quickly to her feet and opened the door. One of the patrol Elves stood outside, his pale face touched with the barest hint of a flush. He had probably run here from his post. "What news do you bring?" Galadriel asked.

He bowed his head and replied, "Lady, your granddaughters are in the city."

A smile turned up the corners of Galadriel's mouth. She had been wondering when they would get here. "Thank you," she said. "I will come down to see them immediately." The patrol Elf bowed again and left her.

Galadwen's daughter was returning… Galadriel could remember as clearly as though it were happening at that very moment her younger daughter standing before her and Celeborn as they interrogated her mercilessly. It had been so hard to pass sentence on Galadwen for trying to seduce Elrond, but it had had to be done. Galadwen's large blue eyes had widened in shock when she heard her punishment – exile from Lothlorien – but then they had hardened. Her law had clenched, and she had turned and left her parents without saying a word. The last thing Galadriel had heard from her daughter's mouth had been words spoken in anger and hate as they were drawn out of her: _"Yes, I did go to Lord Elrond last night. Does it please you to know that, Mother?"_

And now Galadwen's child had come back, completing the circle. Galadriel wondered if she could be strong enough to greet this unexpected granddaughter as she deserved, wondered if she could ever look at her without remembering Galadwen. _But I must try,_ she thought.

She closed her eyes and passed a hand over her face, making herself as calm as she could be. Then, opening her eyes, the Lady of Lorien walked out of her room and down to the roots of the mallorn, where her kin were waiting for her.

Snaga accepted the arm of an Elf to help her down from Arwen's horse. Arwen herself was also dismounting with help, although Snaga could see the faint lines of annoyance on her face – Arwen was perfectly capable of dismounting from a horse and resented it when people assumed otherwise. But where Snaga would normally have found humor in that situation, now she was full of apprehension. She refused to clutch at Arwen's hand as they walked toward the steps leading up to the house nestled in the mallorn tree, and she could see, as though through the eyes of one of the gathered Elves, every stain and tear on the dress she had borrowed from Arwen.

It was all very well to promise, in the bowels of her dungeon in Dol Guldur, that she would come to her grandmother. Actually doing it was another thing. And Snaga had not counted on the mildly interested and blandly scornful eyes fastened on her with every step she took. _Just come, Grandmother,_ she thought nervously.

And then a figure in a shining white gown came into view on the steps that curled around the mallorn, and all rational thought was wiped from Snaga's mind. She knew instinctively that this was Galadriel, and she felt the impulse to kneel and bow her head before such obvious majesty. She forgot about taking cues from Arwen on proper behavior; she could not move anyway. Nothing was more important at the moment than to just look at her grandmother coming toward her.

Arwen, who knew the protocol, bowed her head. Galadriel smiled faintly – much as Arwen hated proper behavior, she knew when to use it. But Galadwen's daughter – for Galadriel had not learned her name – stayed standing, her eyes wide, a look of astonishment and reverence on her face. Galadriel was reminded forcibly of Celebrian and Galadwen – Celebrian, like Arwen, knew when to be proper. But Galadwen had never taken to that, had always done what she wanted to do. A single tear stabbed at Galadriel's eye, but she blinked it away and stepped from the stairs. "Welcome, Undomiel," she said softly. She had not expected Arwen to accept the flowery name that the Lorien Elves had given her, but she did. No resentment was on her face when she lifted it. "And welcome to you as well, Aglarfin," Galadriel added, turning to Snaga. She saw her brow furrow in confusion, but she too accepted the name and met Galadriel's eyes. "Come." She turned and beckoned them both to follow. They did, Arwen taking the lead and Snaga following.

Galadriel led them both into her flet and closed the door behind her. Then she turned to face her granddaughters. Arwen instantly dropped her formal pose and ran to hug Galadriel, who opened her arms and returned the embrace with a smile. When Arwen let go of her grandmother, she turned to Snaga. "Galadriel," she said – she had never thought it quite right to simply say "Grandmother" – "this is my cousin, Snaga. Snaga, Galadriel." Arwen held out her hand to Snaga, inviting her closer.

Snaga took a few tentative steps toward Arwen. She was acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation. She had no idea how to behave toward her grandmother, no idea how to greet her. She didn't even know her. Snaga made an attempt at a curtsey. "Thank you for – for allowing me to come," she managed, her tongue stumbling over the polite words she had never had to speak in Mordor.

Galadriel could feel her unsureness. She knew that Snaga's carefully spoken words were her version of an overture of friendship. Now it was her turn. She walked over to Snaga and took her hands, looking steadily into her blue eyes. "I am thrilled to have you here with us," she said gently. "Truly thrilled."

Snaga swallowed down a sudden lump in her throat. She tried on a smile and found that her face worked well enough to produce one. Behind Galadriel, she could see Arwen's face light up with jubilance. Her own smile widened, and Galadriel pulled her second granddaughter into a hug. Snaga hugged her back, closing her eyes and swallowing to keep her emotions from leaking out of her eyes.

Finally she let go – but only because she could no longer breathe. She looked back at Galadriel and felt a surge of affection. This was her grandmother. This was an Elf who wanted her here, who was willing to love her, no matter what her past was.

Snaga gave in to her impulse and hugged Galadriel again.

This time, when she released her, she felt no awkwardness. She should always have been living here, and this was not a visit, this was a homecoming. There were suddenly a million things Snaga wanted to know, and she asked the first question that came into her mind. "You called me Aglarfin, outside," she said. "What does it mean?"

Galadriel smiled and touched Snaga's golden hair. "In Sindarin," she replied, "it means 'shining hair.'" Snaga smiled back.

It was Arwen who broke the silence, saying, "Galadriel, I'm starving. Can we have something to eat?" _I sound very much like Bilbo,_ she thought with a bit of embarrassment. _Traveling with a hobbit must have worn off on me._

Galadriel, though, laughed and answered, "Of course. Come along, both of you, and we'll get you something. And all the Lothlorien Elves can stare in awe at the both of you."

"Not again!" Arwen complained, dramatically overdoing her sigh of resignation. Snaga giggled, a relatively unfamiliar sound to her, and followed her grandmother and cousin out of the flet.

The feast Galadriel eventually held for both of them was not as bad as Snaga had feared it would be. In the first place, Arwen had lectured her on the rudiments of proper manners, so she knew the basics of what she was expected to do. But in the second place, Galadriel, with incredible foresight, had seated Snaga beside herself, and not many Elves would simply stare at their Lady's dinner partner, as Snaga felt sure they would have it she had been anywhere but on Galadriel's right hand. And Galadriel had not divulged her name to the Elves, naming her only Aglarfin, an acceptable Elven name.

On the whole, then, Snaga was feeling much more optimistic than she would have otherwise when she crawled sleepily into the bed in the flet that she and Arwen were to share. _Maybe this won't be so bad,_ she thought hopefully, settling herself into the soft sheets.

Something collided with her legs. Snaga gasped and jerked upright, her hand reaching for her dagger, which she'd put beside her bed, before she heard a voice she knew whisper frantically, "Snaga, it's me, it's Arwen!"

Snaga dropped the dagger instantly. "Arwen! I'm – I'm sorry," she whispered, blushing in the dark.

"We'll have to cure you of that," Arwen remarked, her voice somewhat shaken but regaining its lightness. "The only people you'll have to be afraid of here are the Elves who are bent on ceremony, and they won't attack you with weapons."

"What will they use?" Snaga asked, hoping to get Arwen talking and to have her forget what had just happened.

Arwen made a face. "Protocol."

Snaga giggled. "Tell me," she suggested, sleepiness drifting away at the prospect of a late-night chat with her cousin. "In fact, why don't you pull your bed over next to mine so you don't have to sit up while I lie down?"

"I'll do that." Arwen got off Snaga's bed, and Snaga quickly pushed her dagger fully under her bed, where she couldn't get at it and frighten innocent friends. Meanwhile, Arwen was pushing her heavy bed as best she could. "I'm doing better at this than I thought I would," she said in mild astonishment. "I suppose it's travel."

"And holding off all the Orcs on the parapet of Dol Guldur," Snaga added.

"That too," Arwen laughed. She gave one more shove, and the bed thudded into Snaga's. "Now, you wanted to know about the well-cultivated Elven weapon of protocol."

Snaga couldn't help but laugh at Arwen's mock-serious tone. "I do," she answered.

"Very well, then. The first thing you should know is…"


	14. A Week in Lothlorien

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Thirteen**

It turned out to be a good thing that Arwen had told Snaga about her experiences with formality that night, because as soon as the girls were woken by a half-awed, half-terrified young Elven girl, Snaga was subjected to the kind of rules Arwen had told her horror stories about.

"The Lady Galadriel sends her greetings," the child who woke them stammered, "and requests that you join her for the first meal of the day."

Arwen got up quickly, went to the closet in their room, and chose a dress. Snaga also got out of bed and, since she had no other dress, reached for the one she had worn into Lorien and tossed carelessly onto the floor last night.

The Elf-girl gasped in horror. "Lady, you can't wear that before Lady Galadriel!"

"Why not?" Snaga asked. "It's the only dress I have."

"It's – well, it's – it's not clean!" the girl finally managed, her expression clearly stating her shock that Snaga would even contemplate wearing a dirty garment.

Arwen, her head the only thing visible over the dressing screen that stood in the corner of the room, caught Snaga's eyes and winked. Snaga rolled her eyes at her cousin and turned back to the Elf girl. "What should I wear, then?"

"There are dresses in that closet," the girl whispered faintly, pointing at the closet Arwen had made her selection from.

"Oh," Snaga said. "I thought those were all Arwen's."

"Lady Undomiel is willing to share her gowns with you." Snaga caught the tiny sigh behind the dressing screen as the Elf girl gave Arwen the honorific she didn't care for.

"Oh," Snaga said again. "Well – thank you. I'll pick one." She walked over to the closet, opened its door, and stared, completely at a loss for words. The dresses were certainly beautiful, but there were many different styles, and Snaga was sure that there were some styles that would not be acceptable for the morning meal. "I – which dress should I wear?" she asked the girl, who was hovering behind her, waiting for her verdict.

The girl's eyes widened, but she stepped up to the closet and pulled out a light, floaty white dress. "This would be appropriate," she said.

"Thank you," Snaga answered, taking the dress. The Elf girl dropped an elegant curtsy and withdrew.

"What did I tell you?" Arwen said, her voice both amused and resigned.

"Whatever you told me, it wasn't far off the mark," Snaga replied, slipping behind the dressing screen as Arwen came from behind it.

But as the week that it would take to get an escort to Rivendell assembled passed, Snaga found herself paying attention to the various types of protocol that she witnessed. Arwen couldn't understand her otherwise sensible cousin's sudden curiosity about a subject that left her entirely at squares, but Galadriel only smiled and watched as Snaga accumulated a culture that she should have been born into.

Finally Arwen asked Snaga about her new obsession. "Why are you so interested?" she asked. "You'll just give yourself a nosebleed trying to understand it all!" Snaga, busy struggling to sew herself a dress, let out a muffled Mordorian curse as she pricked her finger for the hundredth time. Arwen refrained from saying, "See what I mean?"

Snaga looked up, letting the would-be dress fall onto her lap. "Well, I may well give myself a nosebleed, but I have a lifetime of knowledge that I should know, and one week isn't enough time to catch up on it. Galadriel's kept me from becoming a freak show here, but your father has less of a connection with me to do that as easily, and I have to help as much as I can. I don't want to give anyone cause to stare at me like – like I'm a new breed that might be domesticated. I want them to accept me as me, as an Elf, not as what they've heard of me." Her throat was tightening. "You've been immersed in this all your life, and even though you hate it, you know what to do in any given situation. I don't even know how to sew a skirt. I _have_ to know these things if I'm going to stand any chance of fitting in." She bent her head and picked up the dress again, twisting the fabric in an attempt to find the seam she'd been working on.

Arwen swallowed down the emotions that had suddenly risen in her throat. She looked at Snaga, her face screwed up in concentration as she labored to make the tiny effortless stitches that Elven maidens prided themselves on making, and smiled gently. Sitting down beside her cousin, she picked up the cloth and found the seam. "Here," she said quietly, handing the section of fabric to Snaga. "And hold the needle like this." She shaped Snaga's fingers carefully around it.

Snaga looked up at her, her eyes unusually bright, and smiled tentatively. "Thank you," she whispered.

Their stay in Lothlorien passed like a summer day – bright and shining, but all too short. Before Snaga knew it, she was packing the things Galadriel had given her and Arwen had lent her into a pack, and then – she hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep, where had the night gone? – she was climbing onto the back of a horse.

A horse. A horse that she had not the faintest clue how to ride.

Arwen glanced her way and couldn't help smiling at the look she had come to recognize as Snaga trying not to look scared, when she was utterly petrified. She nudged her horse closer to her cousin's and whispered tips into her ears. Looking grateful, though no less scared, Snaga did her best to do as Arwen told her and sat up straight.

Galadriel was already there on the ground to see them off. Snaga looked at her and felt a rush of emotion for this Elf, who had opened her heart to her and loved her unconditionally. _I don't want to leave,I/ Snaga thought, clenching her hands in her horse's mane. I want to stay with you._

She was not at all prepared for what happened then. Galadriel did not move her lips, but her voice, as clear as if she were speaking into Snaga's ears alone, rang in her head. _I know._

Snaga reeled, gripping her horse's mane so tightly that the poor animal neighed and rose up briefly on its hind legs. _What…_was_…that?_ she thought, struggling to stay mounted.

_Forgive me._ Galadriel sounded chagrined and apologetic. _I was not thinking. But I do know that you wish to stay here, and I also know that you will never regret leaving here. Please, trust me about this._ Snaga had the oddest feeling that if Galadriel were actually speaking aloud to her, she would have smiled. As it was, her voice took on a smile quality as she added, _I do, after all, have the benefit of quite a few years on you._

_All right,_ Snaga tried, hesitantly "speaking" in her mind.

_Good. You're catching on. But it is time for me to say goodbye to you all._ With a start, Snaga realized that part of Galadriel's goodbye speech had been delivered while her grandmother was "talking" to her in her head. She shook the head in question vigorously to clear it.

Galadriel approached Arwen then, reaching up to cover her hand. "_Namarie_, Evenstar," she said softly, for Arwen's ears alone. "May your path run smooth before you." Arwen smiled at Galadriel and replied, "_Namarie_, greatest of Elven-kind."

Then it was Snaga's turn. Galadriel turned to face her and said quietly, "You have made a difficult passage, maiden of the shining hair, and it is not over yet. All the counsel I can give you is to continue as you have done." Galadriel stepped up onto the mounting block that Snaga had used to get up on her horse and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "_Namarie, Aglarfin._ You go with my blessings."

Snaga swallowed down the lump in her throat and whispered, "And you with my love, Lady of Lothlorien." She reached out for her grandmother's hand and squeezed it harder than she had meant to, but Galadriel understood.

Then she released Snaga's hand and stepped back. Arwen nudged her horse forward as their escort led the way out of Lothlorien, and Snaga followed. Many would remember that, as the party left the Golden Wood, the Lady Aglarfin sat her seat as well as the Lady Arwen, and even reminded them of Galadriel herself.


	15. Return to Rivendell

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Fourteen**

Snaga tried not to stare as the company rode into Rivendell, but it was not easy to keep her awe from showing on her face. Lothlorien had been beautiful, there was no doubt about that, but Rivendell was beautiful in a less aloof way. It seemed less of a wonderful dream and more of a reality to Snaga, and she had to work hard to not gawk at everything she saw.

Arwen, riding next to her, had a huge smile on her face. She was lucky – she didn't have to worry about the all-important first impression she would make. Snaga took a deep breath to calm down her rising nerves and turned her horse down the path that Arwen took. It didn't help her nerves that Elves were watching their procession from their balconies, but it did help her sense of occasion. She straightened in her saddle and relaxed her white-knuckled grip on her horse's mane.

Beside her, Snaga heard her cousin whisper in her ear, "My father is coming out to meet us. There – you can see him!" Arwen indicated Elrond with a slight nod of her head forward. Snaga leaned forward as well to peer over the heads of their escort. A second train of mounted Elves was coming to meet theirs, and at their head rode a dark-haired Elf with a circlet of silver that bound about his head. He did not look like his daughter, she decided – Arwen resembled Galadriel to Snaga's eyes, and her mother probably even more. But the smooth surety with which she sat her horse, her coolness in battle, her level head in almost every situation Snaga had seen her in – those were gifts of her father.

Lord Elrond's train drew level with theirs. He took in the situation in one smooth, calm glance and said, "Welcome to Imladris, emissaries of the Lady Galadriel." The leader of their train inclined his head, and Elrond turned his eyes on Arwen and Snaga. Arwen swallowed visibly, but kept her head high as she looked back at her father. Snaga suddenly thought that perhaps Arwen had not gotten her father's permission to accompany Gandalf to Mordor. For her own part, she met her uncle's eye squarely, trying to inject as much calmness into her gaze as he held in his. She thought she saw a flicker of approval in his eyes before he broke their mutual stare and went on with the polite words of welcome. Suddenly it was all Snaga could do to keep from collapsing in a dead faint over her horse's neck. She had just taken some kind of test, and she had the exhilarating feeling that she had passed it.

Somehow she made it inside Elrond's house and into Arwen's room. Arwen, leading the way, turned around and grinned as Snaga collapsed across her bed with a groan. "Tired?" Arwen asked mischievously.

"Go away," Snaga laughed, reaching for a pillow and throwing it at her cousin.

Arwen ducked it. "Not polite!" she giggled, and threw it right back. Snaga rose up on her knees to catch it, and the door to Arwen's room opened. Snaga fell back self-consciously to a sitting position as the newcomer took three strides into the room and grabbed Arwen around the waist, hugging her. Arwen's face lit up, and she threw her arms around the intruder, laughing. Snaga bit her lip and looked down at her knees, feeling decidedly out of place. She cast a few glances at the two from under her eyelashes, wondering who the newcomer was. Finally he let Arwen go. Snaga heard a male voice ask, "Who are you?"

Snaga looked up with a start, realizing he was talking to her, and found herself looking at a younger, handsomer version of Elrond. _This_ was an unlooked-for test. An Elf maiden of her own age was no problem at all, but an Elf _man_ was something else altogether. Besides, what could she give as her name? Aglarfin, the only Elven name she had any claim to, felt more like a title to her than a real name, and she didn't want to see the look on his face if she gave her name in Black Speech. She coughed and played with a strand of her hair.

Arwen saved her. "Honestly, Elrohir, try to be polite!" she scolded. "This is our cousin."

Elrohir's gray eyes widened. "We have a cousin?"

"Well, obviously!" Snaga bristled. "Who else would I be?" She glared at Elrohir, but she regretted her outburst. As she had just pointed out, he was her cousin, and she should _not_ bite his head off at their first meeting.

"She was held in Mordor against her will," Arwen said quietly. "She is the daughter of Galadwen, who is dead."

Snaga swallowed. The fat was in the fire now. She did shoot Arwen a thankful look for making the story of her life as simple as she could. Well, since Elrohir knew now that she had lived in Mordor, she could give her name. "My name is Snaga," she added.

To her surprise, Elrohir did not react in shock to the Mordorian name. Instead he smiled and said, "Welcome to Rivendell, then, cousin."

Snaga smiled back, a little shyly. _He has beautiful eyes,_ she thought inanely, and then bit her lip for thinking such a silly thing. "Thank you," she said aloud.

Once the initial introductions had passed, Elrohir put Snaga completely at ease with jokes and easy banter. His good work, however, was almost destroyed when he let slip the fact that Elrond had planned a feast to honor Arwen and Snaga's return. "He's _what?_" Snaga yelped, suddenly terrified. All the Elves of Rivendell gathered in one place…all of them staring at her…she was not up to it, she was just not up to it!

"Calm down!" Arwen said quickly, grabbing Snaga's hand before she could start pacing frantically around the room. "Father will make it quick, I'm sure, and you aren't going to be the center of attention the whole time."

Snaga looked at Arwen pleadingly. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Arwen was tempted to tell the truth and say "No," but in some cases, the truth was not welcome. This was definitely one of them. "I think so," she said, putting as much certainty as she could into her words. Snaga calmed down then – a little.

The feast was not as bad as Snaga had thought it would be, despite her impending feelings of doom while getting dressed for it. She was seated next to Elrohir, thoughtfully not in the direct line of eyesight, but next to someone she knew – even if their acquaintance had lasted for a grand total of an hour prior to the feast.

But even without sitting by Elrond or Arwen, Snaga felt the now-familiar but still uncomfortable sensation of eyes trained on her. Finally she leaned over and muttered to Elrohir, "That Elf across the table hasn't once stopped staring at me!" She felt herself go red as she spoke.

Elrohir glanced at him. "Oh," he said in a tone that carried a good deal of weight. "Luincir."

"Who?" Snaga asked.

Elrohir gave her a mischievous grin. "Only the most willowy and swoony of male Elves imaginable," he whispered, "and one that Elladan and I greatly enjoy teasing!"

Snaga grinned back. Elrohir's enthusiasm was contagious – she could do nothing else. "Did Arwen help?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, especially when he decided that he was in love with _her_!"

She made the mistake of laughing while drinking, and then snorted, choked, got pounded on the back by Elrohir, and was subjected to various scornful glances from well-dressed Elven women throughout the rest of the feast.

_Altogether, not an unsatisfactory first night,_ she thought drowsily as she climbed into bed that night.


	16. Encounters With Elrohir

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Fifteen**

As she was accustomed to do, Snaga rose with the sun and tiptoed out of her room and onto the balcony that overlooked the waterfall. She leaned her elbows on the railing and looked sleepily out at the dawn, coloring the entire valley pink and gold. She sighed with the beauty of it, and then turned the sigh into a yawn as she realized she was tired.

When the sun had fully risen, Snaga stayed, leaning half-asleep, on the balcony for a while, but finally turned to go back into her room. She pulled on the first dress her hands found and settled down to improve her sewing. She had lugged her attempt at a dress from Lothlorien to Rivendell, and it had, true, improved with Arwen helping her, but it still resembled a sack of fabric more than a dress. Sighing, Snaga found the needle that she had stuck into the cloth the last time she'd worked on it, propped up the picture that she was modeling the dress on, and set to work, gritting her teeth when she pricked a finger.

There was a knock on her door. "Come in," Snaga called. She then pricked her finger and swore in vivid Black Speech as the door opened and Elrohir entered.

"Gentle cousin!" he cried in mock outrage.

Snaga looked up and went red. "Oh," she said. Flustered, she dropped the would-be dress onto the floor and jumped to her feet. It was then that she realized that she was wearing absolutely nothing but her extremely flimsy borrowed nightgown. She grabbed for the dress again, blushing even redder than she had before. Elrohir thought her flushed face made her look quite beautiful, but he wisely said nothing. "Um – one moment," Snaga stammered, "and then I'll be fit to see you." She fled behind her dressing screen, thanking her lucky stars that there was one in her room.

Completely embarrassed – she had known the nightgown was too sheer, she'd just _known_ it! – she exchanged it for a pale blue gown with fluttery sleeves. She heard a faint chuckle on the other side of the screen and flushed again. _Probably the most embarrassing moment of my life so far,_ she thought as she emerged. _The worst ones were all in Mordor._ "All right," she said, coughing nervously as she came out. "Let's try that again. Good morning, Elrohir." She tried on an embarrassed smile, trying not to notice how she stumbled over saying his name.

Elrohir grinned. "Good morning, Lady Aglarfin."

No. She would _not_ blush again! "Is that what happens to Arwen?" she asked.

"Pretty much," Elrohir agreed.

"No wonder she hates etiquette," Snaga muttered. "My name is horrible, but use it, please." She didn't mention that she didn't feel quite right with an Elvish name yet, even an honorific.

"All right." Elrohir smiled. "Good morning, then, Snaga." For some reason, her name wasn't as bad when he said it. "Breakfast is ready, if you would care to grace the table with your lovely presence." He made a sweeping, over-elaborate bow, and Snaga laughed in spite of herself.

"As I am ravenously hungry and could eat an Orc, I will come at once," she agreed, lightly placing her fingertips on his extended wrist. He grinned at her, and Snaga smothered another laugh before they left.

Breakfast, thankfully, was a private family affair. Elrond, Arwen, and Elladan were the only other people at the table. Snaga sat down next to Arwen, a little nervous. She could smell an interrogation coming.

Elrond was wise enough to not let her stew in her nerves. He asked her his questions as he handed a plate of food to Elladan. "Are you here to stay, then, Snaga?" he asked, his voice gentle on her harsh name.

She bit her lip. At least he hadn't made her wait and become a nervous wreck. "If you will let me, yes."

He smiled. "You are my niece. If you wish to remain here, I will not turn you away."

"Thank you," Snaga whispered, taking the plate, scooping some food onto her plate, and passing it to Arwen.

"One more question. Arwen has told me what happened in Mordor," Elrond said. "She told me that you held off an Orc until she and Gandalf were ready to fight, and that you killed him in their defense." Snaga braced herself for the scolding to come for having saved everyone's lives. "It seems," Elrond went on, "that you are quite skilled with a dagger. Would you, perhaps, like to be trained in the use of one, and maybe learn to fight with two?"

Snaga stared. This was so far from what she had been expecting that she couldn't believe she had heard her uncle right. "I – did you just say what I think you said?" she gasped.

"I did."

She wasted no time coming to her decision. "Then I would love to be trained to fight!" she cried.

Elrond raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisted in an attempt not to smile; Snaga had the grace to blush at her outburst. "I shall see to it at once, then," was all that her uncle said, however, although his voice was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Please pass the milk."

The next day, Arwen woke her a little after dawn. "Wake up, lazy," she teased. "Your daggers instructor is waiting for you in the courtyard." She laughed to see how quickly Snaga bolted out of bed and into breeches and a tunic. "Come on, I'll take you down." She led Snaga down from the house and into the stables and training grounds. "Right in there," Arwen said, pointing at a plain wooden door. "Your lesson is only an hour and a half, so don't let him torture you past then." She gave her cousin a quick hug and a smile.

Snaga pushed open the door and slipped nervously into the room. It was very large and well lit, with huge windows on all sides letting the light stream in. She carefully closed the door.

"Father thought it would be best if it was someone you already knew," came a familiar voice from behind her. She turned in surprise and found herself looking into Elrohir's laughing gray eyes. "No need to look so stricken," he assured her. "Take out your dagger."

She obeyed, thinking that, wise as Lord Elrond was, he could have picked someone _other than_ the one Elf who had seen her just the day before in her see-through nightgown. She clasped her hands behind her back as Elrohir took her dagger and nearly dropped it in shock. "This is of Elvish make!" he cried.

"It was in a heap of Elvish weapons," Snaga told him quickly. "The Orcs liked to destroy any they could gather. I got a sword from the pile, too, but I always used the dagger." She spared a sigh for the beautiful sword that she had hidden under her mattress in Dol Guldur, the sword that was doubtlessly destroyed by now. "I got the dagger back when my mother dropped it by accident."

Elrohir recovered from his surprise quickly enough to examine it for signs of wear. "You've _used_ this thing," he remarked, and Snaga smiled proudly. "Well, there's nothing wrong with it. It's a typical Elven dagger, so you won't have to learn to work with a different style of weapon. Now, if you would please hold it in guard position…?"

Snaga complied, gripping the dagger in her right hand and leaning forward.

"All right," Elrohir said musingly. He pulled a dagger of his own out of a belt sheath and took a position opposite her. "Just an experimental fight," he assured Snaga. "I have to see how you actually move."

Snaga took the offensive quickly, leaning in to deliver a slash at Elrohir's arm. He blocked it with a speed that astonished her, and barely gave her time to stumble back before he pressed the advantage that her shock had given him. His every movement spoke of deadly grace and skill. Snaga retreated, beating back his dagger but losing ground.

_Come on!_ she yelled at herself. _You're not doing yourself any favors by retreating – he's not going to kill you!_ She blocked his latest jab, then quickly ducked under his arm and raced around to his unprotected back. He spun to engage her, but she had begun a swing as he pivoted. Snaga threw herself forward to catch his dagger on hers and hook it out of his hand. It was Elrohir's turn to stumble back, ducking to avoid her blade –

And then he grabbed her by the knees and upended her onto the floor, smoothly removing the dagger from her hand as she fell, so she wouldn't impale herself on it by accident. As it was, Snaga barely remembered to hit the ground with her hands, not her head and back, and her palms screamed in pain as they caught her fall. She gasped and bit her lip to stop herself from whimpering.

Elrohir was beside her, offering his hand to help her up. She took it and pulled herself into an upright position. Her cousin was beaming. "That was good!" he said approvingly. "That was very good!"

"But I lost," she pointed out with a wry grin.

He flashed her a brilliant smile. "That part is what I take care of. Now, your position is effective, but not as effective as it could be." He demonstrated her first attack position, his torso leaning forward. "It gives the sense of aggression, but puts you way off balance. Take that position –" Snaga took it a bit nervously. "Now, suppose you straighten your upper body…" Elrohir took her shoulder with one hand and pressed his other against her back. Snaga's eyes widened in surprise, and she found herself staring quite pointedly at the floor to avoid looking at Elrohir.

He pushed her torso into line with her legs. "There. Put about the width of your shoulders between your feet, and bend your knees slightly." Snaga did as he asked, still looking at the floor. "Look up." She obeyed. "Now _that_," Elrohir said approvingly, "is a good guard position. You're balanced, and – look into my eyes. Pretend I'm a foul Orc from the dungeons of Dol Guldur, and you want to kill me; there! – and steady eye contact will let your opponent know you're not to be messed with." He smiled. "Now, I want you to try a short fight in that position, just so you get used to it. Your grip is fine, by the way." He fell into an identical guard position opposite her.

Snaga suddenly realized just how much her muscles were hurting from the fight they had just had…

By the end of the hour and a half, Snaga was aching and smarting all over. She was sure that she had gotten bruises in places where no one else had ever had bruises before. Her entire right arm was limp and weak. "Are you sure you didn't break my arm?" Snaga asked Elrohir, shaking out the arm in question – in their last fight, he had grabbed it and twisted it in front of her while effectively disarming her.

"Let me see it," he replied, sheathing his dagger and holding out his hand.

Snaga grinned, slid her own dagger back into its sheath, and gave him her arm. Elrohir laid it across his palm and carefully probed it with his other hand. Snaga felt oddly self-conscious. The room was too quiet all of a sudden, and Elrohir's eyes and fingers were much too gentle as he checked her arm for injuries. She fidgeted and coughed quietly, wishing both that he would stop holding her arm and that he would never let go of it.

Finally he removed it from its position across his hand. "No breaks," he assured her, "only a few very large and probably colorful bruises."

Snaga tried a smile. "And who is to blame for those bruises?" she asked.

Elrohir's grin was completely disarming. "Alas, I am to blame if you cannot wear sheer sleeves until the bruises fade." He laughed quietly, and Snaga giggled too. "Let's go to breakfast, cousin mine." He slung an arm over her shoulders – why did it feel so wonderfully unsettling to be so near to him? – and led her out of the practice hall.


	17. Returns and Farewells

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Arwen was unusually jittery, Snaga noticed. She had been living in Rivendell for only a month, but she had quickly seen how much Arwen relaxed when she was home. But now, her sensible, practical cousin had stayed in her room all day, come out of it to have breakfast, and had since been pacing the halls of her house in her best dress. Snaga was extremely confused. "Is Arwen all right?" she finally asked Elrohir.

He smiled very sadly. "Yes and no. Estel is coming back."

_Estel._ She knew that word. "That means 'hope,' doesn't it?"

"Yes," Elrohir told her, "but it is also the name of Father's foster child. A mortal. His father was killed, and his mother brought him here to be raised."

"Oh." Was Arwen in love with him, then? From Elrohir's voice and sad face, it seemed likely. "I think I won't go and ask her to practice with me, then," Snaga said in an attempt at lightheartedness. Elrohir looked too sad; she had to try to cheer him up.

He shook his head to clear it. "Probably a good idea," he agreed. "However, I'm free if you want to practice."

_Don't even try to pretend you didn't want him to say that,_ Snaga told herself. Aloud she said, "All right, then. Let me get my daggers."

Elrohir had told her to start practicing with two daggers instead of just one. Within the month she had been in Rivendell, she had grasped the technique of Elven fighting, so Elrohir was stepping up the expectations. Snaga was finding it increasingly hard to remember all the things she was supposed to know for two daggers, but she was getting better – and her fighting was much more Elvish than it had been before. _And that is what I wanted,_ she reminded herself as she found her belt with the two daggers in their sheaths attached, buckled it on, and made her way to the practice courts.

Elrohir put her through an intense workout. By the time he was finished defeating her for the fourth time, Snaga was soaked with sweat and tired to the bone. The world was spinning in brightly colored spots before her eyes. She sheathed her daggers, but even that little movement put her off-balance, and she threw out a hand and caught Elrohir's shoulder to steady herself. He reached out and took her by the forearms while she blinked to clear her eyes. His hands were very gentle on her arms, but Snaga knew he was strong enough to support her. She let go of his shoulder when her head and eyes were clear.

"Come on," he said softly. "You need some water." He took her hand in his and led her out of the practice room and back into Elrond's house, where he made her sit down while he poured her a glass of water.

Snaga took it gratefully, gulping the cold water down and rolling the still-cool, empty cup across her sweaty forehead. Elrohir took it from her and refilled it. She drank the second cup more decorously, and then stood up slowly. "Thank you," she said, still a little lightheaded.

"My pleasure," Elrohir answered. He took the cup back and filled it for himself. Snaga didn't let him see her small smile as she left the room and went up to her own, where she washed off the sweat and grime and soaked away her weariness in a long bath.

Later that day, about mid-afternoon, Snaga was sitting outside her room, finishing up the dress she had started making in Lothlorien, when she heard footsteps pounding down the hall. She looked up in time to see a blur of blue silk and streaming black hair flying by her. Arwen. Snaga got to her feet and followed her cousin, wondering what could make her be in such a hurry.

Arwen's path led Snaga through the house, down to the door, and outside to the gates of Rivendell. Snaga hid herself behind a house, peering out as the gates opened and Gandalf came through them, followed by a Man. Snaga barely had time to note that his hair was dark and his clothes tattered before Arwen ran at him and threw her arms around him. Snaga could hear both of them laugh, and saw the Man catch Arwen to him and hold her tightly. A lump rose in her throat. The Man was Estel, and this was love.

Snaga looked away from Arwen and Estel, feeling as though she should not be spying on them, and instead focused on Gandalf. The wizard looked considerably relieved to see that Arwen had not suffered any long-lasting injuries from her venture into Mordor, as evidenced by her tackle of Estel, and he caught Snaga's eye and winked at her as he came into Rivendell. After a moment of hesitation, Snaga winked back and smiled broadly.

Then Gandalf coughed loudly. Arwen blushed and pulled away from Estel, but kept her hand firmly entwined in his as he turned to look at Gandalf. "There is a time and a place for joy," Gandalf remarked, "and it is not at your return to Rivendell, Aragorn. And Elrond will not take kindly to the idea of you coming in with us, Lady Arwen." His voice was gentle, but his meaning plainly understood. Arwen released Aragorn's hand, and he held her eyes for one more moment before setting his eyes on Elrond's house. Snaga smiled and slipped away.

All through the rest of the day, and in the evening when Snaga was trying to get to sleep, her mind kept pulling back the image of Arwen racing through Rivendell to see her beloved, and of their reunion and the complete joy they had both clearly felt. Snaga had been mildly jealous of Arwen before, but always it was for things that she knew she too could gain if she put her mind to it: respect, admiration, friendship. But the sheer love that the entrance to Rivendell had been throbbing with at Arwen's reunion with Aragorn was not something that could be worked toward and finally gained. Love was strange, as Snaga ought to know. She had tried many times to make Galadwen look at her with affection, and many times she had been met with indifference, coldness, or anger. Love did not come as a reward for trying hard. _Will there ever be anyone that I'd run through a city to see?_ Snaga wondered, and against her will a solitary tear dropped onto her pillow.

Shortly after Gandalf and Aragorn's arrival, Snaga heard some disturbing news from Elrohir. He came in to her lessons one day in a foul mood and with such an air of indifference to the lesson that she finally demanded, "Elrohir, what in the name of all the Valar is going on?"

He fairly glared at her for a moment. Then suddenly all the wrath was gone from his eyes, and they looked unutterably tired and frightened. "Gandalf just told us that the Enemy escaped Dol Guldur," he said quietly.

Snaga sank to the dirt floor of the practice room, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. "He escaped?" she repeated, horrified. "He's out there somewhere that we don't know?" She recalled with painful vividness her last meeting with Sauron. _She hung limp in Sauron's grip as he smashed her bones against the walls, tore at her golden hair, used her own dagger to slash up and down her body. He offered her no other chance to save herself._ She felt the panic rising in her, and fought it down with an effort. "How did Gandalf find out?" she asked.

"He didn't say," Elrohir replied wearily. "But he asked Father's help to look for him." Snaga knew the rest instinctively, knew it before Elrohir added, "Father asked Elladan and me to lead the troops he will send." With a sigh too heavy for someone so usually jovial, Elrohir joined Snaga on the dirt floor, staring down at his hands. Snaga chanced a look at him out of the corner of her eyes and felt his fear rise, to drown out the weariness in his eyes. He looked over and stared into her own eyes. "I don't know if I could tell anyone else – Valar, I don't even know if I can tell you – but I'm frightened." He gave a self-derisive snort. "Listen to me, I sound like some unblooded youth." The scorn melted out of his voice. His eyes were almost haunted. "I've killed Orcs before, scores of them, but I think of the power that the Enemy is able to muster, and I feel like those Orcs are nothing more than a tryout to see if I would survive long enough for this. I can't even allow myself to think of what he might do to us, or I'd be too scared and I'd try to get out of going." His hand reached out and covered hers where it lay on the floor. Snaga's eyes were wide, but she bit her lip and made her expression less surprised.

"You may not find him at all," she said quietly. "Then you wouldn't even need to worry about him yet."

"And then we would have failed in our mission," Elrohir added. His hand tightened on hers.

Without thinking, Snaga reached out and put her arms around him. She knew that Elrohir needed to be comforted, but he surprised her with the speed with which he returned her embrace. He buried his head in her shoulder, and Snaga found herself close to tears. She tightened her arms and tried to choke back her emotions.

It seemed that they sat there forever, holding each other close and weeping silently. But finally Elrohir loosened his iron grip on her and sat back. His gray eyes were wet with tears, and Snaga knew her own eyes were wet as well.

Elrohir put out a hand and tenderly wiped a tear off her cheek. "Oh, Snaga, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

She grabbed his hand and held it against her face. "Don't apologize," she answered in a whisper just as soft as his.

He stood up, pulling her with him. "I should go now and pack." Snaga released his hand, but it lingered for a split second on her tearstained face before he turned and walked out of the practice room.

Elrohir, Elladan, and some of the best warriors that Rivendell had to offer rode out the next day with Aragorn and Gandalf. Arwen and Snaga had come with Elrond to see them off. Arwen had not been able to steal much time with Aragorn, but Snaga had caught the many glances they had given each other, and from the sad look on Elrond's face, she knew he had seen them as well.

Elrohir had reined his horse in just after he mounted and turned it toward Snaga. "Thank you, my cousin of the shining hair," he had said, in a low voice for her ears alone.

"Return safely, proud rider," she whispered back, and surprised him by adding the Elvish "Namarie." At his look of pleasant surprise, she added, "I'm not an uncultured barbarian."

"I did not think you were." His eyes were sad and fathoms deep. Snaga almost lost herself in them. "Namarie to you as well." He brushed her hand lightly, an almost feathery touch, and then turned his horse about and rode after his brother.

Snaga stepped back, watching him go. Beside her, Arwen reached for her hand, and Snaga grasped it and put her other arm around her cousin's shoulder. But her eyes did not leave Elrohir, and there was a curious fluttering pain in her heart.

_Oh, Valar help me,_ she thought suddenly. _I love him._

Suddenly the pain of his going was ten times worse, and she clung to Arwen's hand as the only stable thing in a world turning on its head. _Let him come back safely,_ she thought. _Let him come back so I can tell him._

The hooves of the last rider's horse clattered out of the gates of Rivendell.

_Author's Notes: First of all, I apologize for my anachronism in regards to Arwen and Aragorn. I'd just written their reunion scene when I checked the timeline in ROTK and saw that – ha, ha – he doesn't even meet her until ten years after "The Hobbit!" Please forgive my lack of research, and try to regard it as a plot twist (which I wrote it to be, after all)! Second, about the cousins thing…I was thinking of it in the context of the Middle Ages, when people married their cousins all the time. And after all, they haven't grown up together, so it's not as weird as if they'd known all their lives that they were cousins. I apologize again if that's off-putting._


	18. Decisions

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Seventeen**

The weeks passed in agonizingly slow succession. Every week a new dispatch would come from Gandalf: _"No progress made with search. Dissention breeding; Elladan and Elrohir quelled it effectively. Do not know if we can continue much longer."_ Sometimes there would be notes sent in the dispatch by homesick Elves: _"Mordin sends his love to Ninien."_ Less frequently, Elrond's sons would put in a note. Snaga always listened carefully whenever they did, hoping for some hint that Elrohir might possibly feel…what? Something akin to what she felt? No matter how closely she listened when Elrond read aloud the dispatches, trying her hardest to read obscure meanings into Elrohir's words, she could make of them nothing more than a cousinly affection.

There was one dispatch that caused a chilly havoc in Elrond's household. For the first time, Aragorn had requested to be allowed to add something to Gandalf's dispatch, and for all his diplomatic wording – how he missed being in Rivendell and wished he could see the house of Elrond again – Snaga knew that his message was meant for Arwen. Arwen could read between the lines of his almost cool sentence, and try as she might, she could not keep her face from showing her joy. Elrond saw it too, and stopped reading abruptly, rolling up the dispatch and tucking it into his belt.

For three days after that dispatch came, Arwen and Elrond were as cold to each other as they could civilly be. Snaga lived in an awkward limbo between the two of them until Elrond finally apologized to Arwen for overreacting. She accepted his apology with one of her own, and life was back to normal in Imladris.

And then, one crisp autumn day when the first of the emerald-green leaves of the trees was starting to turn gold at the edges, came the dispatch that sent everyone living in Rivendell into spasms of both joy and fear. It was surprisingly brief, and Gandalf's hand was as stilted as his words. _"We are coming back."_

Nothing more, and yet the four words filled Snaga with apprehension. They had not found Sauron, but she had not truly expected that they would. But that meant that he was still somewhere, in an unknown location, licking his wounds over his defeat at Dol Guldur, the loss of his magically gifted consort, and the revelation of his existence. The thought of Sauron at large was not one to make Snaga happy. And yet…and yet…Elrohir was coming home! She would see him again, and just maybe, there might be something _more_ in his heart for her. _May it please the Valar to let it be so…_

The company rode through the gates of Rivendell in less pride than they had gone forth in, but with much more rejoicing. Wives rushed out to the gates to embrace their still-mounted husbands, and little children stretched out their hands to "Brother!" or "Father!" Elladan leaped from his horse and ran to Elrond, while Elrohir made a beeline for Arwen, catching her by the waist and swinging her into the air, just as Snaga had seen him do the day she met him. She also saw Aragorn approach and catch Arwen's eyes, and Elrohir relinquished his sister to the Man, turning instead to Snaga.

"Welcome home," she said, giving him her hands.

Elrohir smiled his dazzling smile. "Thank you, Snaga," he replied, pulling her into an embrace. Snaga held him close to her, setting her face on his shoulder. _You have come back to me._ Then he pulled away, squeezed her hands, and threw his arms around Elrond.

Elrond held a feast that night, and it seemed to Snaga that she had never seen so many joyous faces in her life. Miraculously, no one had fallen to an Orc's sword, and so there was no note of sadness to the celebration, only a faint tinge of foreboding doom that everyone studiously kept out of their minds. Everyone who had left Rivendell to search for Sauron's new hiding place was seated at the head of the great table, Gandalf included. The wizard had not changed out of his gray robes, but he was more relaxed than Snaga had ever seen him before. Aragorn too sat at the head of the table, and he and Arwen valiantly tried to not stare at each other all night. Not all of the Elves who had left Rivendell were married or betrothed, and quite a few Elven maidens who had not noticed them before were now starting to look at Rivendell's new heroes in a different light. Snaga would have found it quite amusing, had not one of those maidens chosen Elrohir to gaze meltingly at. She glared at the girl, hoping to embarrass her into looking away, but she didn't even notice Snaga. Then, to make matters worse, Elrohir saw the girl looking at him and returned her glance with a mischievous smile. Snaga began to feel quite heartsick, and finally excused herself, slipping from the banquet hall and out onto the terrace.

She breathed in the cool night air, clung to the balcony to steady herself, and closed her eyes. In the morning she was going to find out who that girl was and –

No. No, that was stupid. Why should she blame someone for liking the same things she liked? The same _person_ she _loved_…

Why had he smiled at her? Had he absolutely needed to smile at her? Snaga lowered her head into her hands. The smile was what had really done it for her. The girl probably meant absolutely nothing to him, and yet he'd given her one of his brilliant smiles, one that Snaga would have loved to be on the receiving end of.

She heard footsteps behind her. Hardly daring to hope that it was Elrohir, she turned around, and was sadly disappointed. Luincir, the Elf who had stared at her on the night of her arrival in Rivendell, was standing on the terrace with her, and he was staring at her again with huge, stupid eyes. "Hello," Snaga muttered. "Goodbye." She made for the banquet hall again, but Luincir stood in her way.

"Are you sad?" he asked inanely, his eyes baby-wide.

His childish voice irked Snaga. "_No_," she said sarcastically. "No, I'm actually having a wonderful time _by myself_, and I think I'll go back in there now." This time she managed to brush by him and gain reentrance to the banquet hall. Elrohir was not looking at the girl anymore, she noticed. Even so, she cried quietly into her pillow and wondered how things would have turned out had Elrohir and not Luincir accosted her on the terrace.

…

"I've decided something, Snaga," announced Arwen three days later.

Snaga looked up in surprise. Her cousin loved to come bounding into her rooms at any time, knowing she was more than welcome, but it always caught Snaga off-guard when Arwen did it. "What have you decided?" she asked.

Arwen smiled and flopped down on the bed next to Snaga. "That's the dress you made for yourself, isn't it?" she asked, nodding at Snaga's gown.

"It is," Snaga affirmed. "Do you like it?" She smoothed out the pale yellow folds of the skirt. _She_ had thought that the dress she had started in Lothlorien as sewing practice had turned out worlds better than she had expected, but she knew she might be slightly biased.

"I love it!" came Arwen's heartwarmingly enthusiastic approval. "Could you make me one to the same pattern?"

Snaga had hoped that the prospect of another lengthy sewing project would not loom onto her horizon for perhaps the rest of her life, but faced with Arwen's glowing face, she quickly agreed, "Of course I will!" and hugged her. "But that wasn't what you came to tell me, was it?"

"No," Arwen admitted. "No, I think you'll actually like what I came to say."

"I like doing things for you!" Snaga protested.

"But not making a whole new dress!" Arwen grinned.

"All right. You win. Now tell me!"

Arwen's smile grew wider. "I've been thinking it over, and you can't go through the rest of your life with an Elvish honorific and a name in Black Speech." Snaga sighed – she had been thinking the same thing during the few moments in her day when she was neither busy nor worrying about Elrohir. "So what I think you need to do is to pick a new name!"

Snaga's jaw fell open. "I – I can _do_ that?"

"Of course you can!" Arwen assured her. "We're not going to force you to call yourself 'Slave' all your life!"

Snaga blinked hard. She had wished, of course, that she could change her name to something more Elvish, but she hadn't known how to broach the subject or how a new name could be picked. Her throat closed up. She looked over at Arwen with blurring vision. "Thank you," she whispered. Then, coughing back her tears, she repeated, "Thank you!" much more enthusiastically, with a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Arwen smiled gently and opened her arms. Snaga reached out and clung to Arwen until she had control of herself again. "So what do you think?" Arwen asked.

"Oh, I will!" Snaga cried. "I will! I just…" She paused. "Can my name…mean something?"

"Of course! Most Elvish names do. Take mine, for instance – it means 'royal maiden.'" Arwen's face softened. "Pick a name that means something important, a name you'd be willing to live with for the rest of your life." With a grin slipping onto her face, she added, "You do have a luxury, in picking your own name, that many of us are not given!" That sent them both off into giggles.

When their laughing had finally died away, Snaga got up and slipped behind the dressing screen. "What are you doing?" Arwen asked.

"If I'm going to make you a dress, I have to know your size so I can modify my patterns!" Snaga answered. The yellow dress appeared over the top of the screen. "Here. Try it on so I have some idea of your size." She paused a moment, then added, "And pass me my robe, would you?"

"You're becoming too methodical for my comfort," Arwen teased as she tossed Snaga's robe over the screen.

"Blame yourself for bringing me here," Snaga retorted, emerging from behind the screen. "I could, after all, have spent a blissful life being whipped by foul Orcs every day in the dungeons of Dol Guldur!"

It was quite a while before the two of them recovered from their laughter enough to put on the dress or appraise what changes needed to be made.


	19. Gifts

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Eighteen**

Elrond was very happy when Arwen and Snaga told him that Snaga was going to pick a new name, which put to rest any lingering doubts that Snaga had had about choosing a name. She sat down with Arwen and some heavy dictionaries to choose a name that very day, but after three hours of slogging through one dictionary to find words Snaga liked, even Arwen's enthusiasm was flagging. Snaga's had long since given way to method – she would go down the list of words, pick one she liked, write it down, and go back to the dictionary. It was slow work, and finally Snaga slapped the dictionary she was using closed and pushed it aside. "I have to take a break," she told Arwen. "My mind is withering just thinking of all the rest of the words I have to look through."

"About time!" Arwen gave a weary laugh and closed the dictionary she had been browsing. "I was wondering when you would get tired." She stood up and held out her hand. "Want to come walk in the garden with me?"

"I'd love to!" Snaga said gratefully. A long, quiet walk in mid-morning with Arwen would be just the thing to stop her mind from conjuring up now-disturbing images of pages and pages of Sindarin words. She sprang to her feet and followed Arwen out of her room.

They made their way down to the private garden that Celebrian, Arwen's mother, had planted and tended. After she departed for Valinor, Arwen had taken over the garden, and it seemed as willing to bloom for the Evenstar as for the lady of Rivendell. Snaga loved walking among its flowerbeds and small paths.

If she had hoped to have a quiet walk, however, that pleasure was to be denied her. No sooner had she and Arwen begun walking than Arwen turned to her and said quietly, "Snaga, can I ask you something?"

_There goes peace and quiet,_ Snaga thought ruefully. There was a look in Arwen's eyes that meant that the question she wanted to ask was not going to be an easy one to answer. "Yes," she said aloud.

Arwen took a deep breath and asked it. "Do you care for Elrohir?"

Snaga's eyes opened wide. She had not expected _this._ She forced a laugh. "Of course! He's my cousin –" she started to say.

Arwen cut her off. "You know what I mean." Snaga fell silent abruptly and looked down at the small stones lining the garden path. When she did not speak for some time, Arwen went on. "I have eyes, Snaga. Please tell me. _Is_ there something besides family between you and Elrohir?"

"What if there is?" Snaga said quietly. She walked in front of Arwen, putting her back to her cousin. "What would you do if there was?"

Arwen was at a loss for what to do. Snaga had never gone cold on her like this before, never. Her instincts told her that she had not only put her finger on the truth, but that the truth was raw and hurting somewhere. She took a deep breath. "Snaga, if you do feel something for him, I would be thrilled. I love you both, and I would love it if you decided to marry." She took a step toward Snaga, but the gravel under her feet warned Snaga of her approach, and she took an answering step away from Arwen. "Can you believe me?"

She saw Snaga's shoulders shake, and she reached out and took her hands. "Please trust me!" she whispered. "Please!"

Snaga turned her face toward Arwen – her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I do," she whispered back. "If not you, who would I trust?" She swallowed the tears down. "I wish there was something between us besides being family," she went on. "I wish there was, but I don't know."

Arwen gripped her hands tightly. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes." Snaga swallowed again. "I was afraid every day they were away, searching for Sauron, that some dispatch would come back saying that he was dead and I would never have told him any inkling of how I felt. I wished he'd never gone, and at the same time the reasons he went are part of why I feel this way about him. Is that part of loving someone?" She looked away from Arwen to swallow, then met her eyes again. "You've been here before. Tell me. Please."

Arwen closed her eyes for a time before opening them to her cousin's anxious ones. "That is part of it, for Aragorn and me at least. Everyone is different, so everyone's way of loving is different, but I do know what you're talking about, and yes, I would say that you love him."

Snaga sighed and released Arwen's hands. "That's what I needed to know," she whispered. "Thank you."

_How afraid she is!_ Arwen thought. _Just like I was at first._ A surge of empathy welled up in her, and she put her arms around Snaga and held her gently. She felt Snaga's body shudder with smothered sobs, but she said nothing, only loosening her hold when Snaga began to pull away from the hug. "Will you be all right?" she asked.

"I hope so," Snaga answered, squeezing Arwen's hand in silent thanks.

…

Snaga sheathed her daggers and wiped her forehead free of sweat. Elrohir was drinking water from the flask that he always brought to her lessons. She was tempted to ask him if she could have a drink, but she decided not to. She could always have one in her room, of course, and there was no need to bother Elrohir.

Although she wondered whether her silence was due to the fact that the Elf who had stared at Elrohir when he returned from hunting for Sauron was going everywhere with him. Snaga's initial dislike of her had become greater when she realized that there was absolutely nothing inside the Elf-girl's head – other than mush, at least. At least she had had an ally – Arwen had gamely taken a disliking to the girl as well, and had tried to cheer Snaga up by pointing out that Elrohir seemed increasingly annoyed at the girl when she kept popping up at his side. _But he could just tell her to leave him alone,_ Snaga thought, and wondered why she was so fond of self-torture.

She snapped out of her thoughts when Elrohir said, "Do you want a drink?" and offered her the flask of water.

"Oh," she said, flustered. "Oh, no, thanks." She quickly unbuckled her dagger belt with the sheaths dangling from it and dropped her small towel on top of it. "No, I should be going," she added, avoiding looking at him. "I have to finish the dress for Arwen."

"Well, don't go yet!" he said. "I have something for you."

Snaga swallowed and turned to face him. "What?" she asked.

Elrohir laughed. "No need to look so scared! I'm not going to skewer you on my sword, you know." That drew a smile from her, albeit a weak one, and Elrohir smiled too. "All right, close your eyes."

"You _are_ going to skewer me on your sword," she accused, but she closed her eyes.

He chuckled. "No. I promise I won't." Snaga heard him set down the water flask and walk to the far side of the practice room. She heard him move aside some of his things, which he'd tossed in a pile on his side of the room, and then his footsteps came back to stand in front of her. "All right," he said, excitement in his voice. "You can open your eyes."

Snaga opened them – and stared at the twin tooled-leather dagger sheaths dangling from an identical belt, with twin hilts rising out of them. Her mouth dropped open, and she reached out and touched the nearest hilt. "They're beautiful!" she breathed.

Elrohir's smile was as wide as the world. "Take them, Snaga. They're yours."

She reached out and took the belt, her fingertips brushing along the Elvish tooled into the leather. "These must have cost you a fortune!" she gasped, drawing one of the daggers and noting the same Elvish words adorning the gleaming blade.

"It's not polite to say," he teased, "so you can't ask me." Then, with a grin, he added, "But a proper matched set of daggers does not come cheaply, I promise you that!" His face softened. "When I bested my fighting instructor, he gave me a set of matched daggers. I thought it was only fitting, considering your triumph of last week."

Snaga grinned, remembering how proud she'd been that she'd beaten Elrohir for the first time. In their next match, she'd been so excited that he'd won it easily, but she'd still beaten him. "Thank you, Elrohir," she whispered. "I – thank you."

"Here," he said. "I'll gird you properly. It _is_ customary to have someone put your weapons on for you the first time you wear them." He slipped the belt around her waist and quickly buckled it in front, so that the daggers hung one over each thigh, within easy unsheathing range. Then he stepped back and smiled. "Perfect."

Snaga bit her lip and smiled too. "Elrohir, thank you so much!" she whispered, swallowing down an overjoyed lump in her throat. He reached out and pulled her into a hug. Snaga closed her eyes and hugged him back.

Then he coughed and let her go. "We should get back to the house," he said ruefully, picking up the bag he always brought to the lessons and slipping the flask of water into it. Snaga scooped up her own bag, putting the practice daggers into it, and followed him out of the practice room.

"Elrohir," she said as they climbed the stairs to the balcony of Elrond's house, "I'm going to pick a new name." She kept her eyes ahead of her as she talked. "What do you think of that?"

He stopped on the step above her and looked down at her. "I think that is a brilliant idea," he answered. "What name are you thinking of?"

"I don't know," Snaga confessed. She shrugged and hitched her bag higher on her shoulders. "What would you suggest?"

"Well, I would suggest talking it over with Arwen, who will have much more imaginative ideas for girls' names than me!" Elrohir laughed.

"She was the one who suggested it," Snaga told him. "So I've already talked with her about it. I –" She took another step to catch up to Elrohir. "I wanted to know what ideas you might have."

Elrohir paused for a moment that seemed interminable before he answered, and even then he answered in a question. "Who are the most important people in your life right now?"

"What do you mean?" Snaga asked.

"Just what it sounds like."

She thought about it. "Gandalf. Arwen. You." He grinned. "I'm not just saying that because you're here!" Snaga added quickly. "Who else? Elrond. And Galadriel." She looked back at Elrohir. "I think that about covers it."

"Well, what I would suggest is that you think about those people you mentioned, and pick something that would remind you of them." Elrohir reached over and lifted her bag off her shoulders. "Come on, Undecided One. I'll carry this for you until we get to your room."


	20. What's In a Name?

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Nineteen**

Something that reminded Snaga of…which one? She sat on her bed, the Elvish dictionaries all open and spread around her, and tried to remember specific moments that conjured up thoughts of the people she cared about. Well, Arwen was easy. When she thought of Arwen, the first thing she saw in her mind was an Orc pulling off a helmet to reveal long black hair and an Elven face, in the dungeons of Dol Guldur. That was Arwen. Snaga smiled as the image entered her mind. Elrohir…he was easy as well, too easy for her own peace of mind. He was a tall figure on horseback, riding out of Rivendell to Valar knew what fate. But what name could she call herself that would remind her of those moments?

Snaga fell asleep on top of the thickest dictionary, still trying to figure it out. Arwen woke her at midday when she came to her room to help with the name search. "Snaga," she whispered, shaking her gently to wake her up. "Snaga, wake up, I've heard something!"

Snaga drowsily rolled over to face Arwen. "What?" she asked, yawning widely.

"I just thought you'd be interested to hear that the girl who keeps hanging around Elrohir is betrothed," Arwen said quickly. "I thought it might make you less nervous. And no, I didn't go ferreting around to find that out. Her parents told me because they wanted to ask me to help her prepare for her wedding."

"Really?" Snaga sat up, her weariness forgotten. "That's – I mean, that's true?"

Arwen crossed her arms in mock horror. "Would I lie to you?" she gasped. Then she smiled. "Yes, it's true. And just so you know, she's going to marry that Elf who was staring at you…Luincir, that's his name…so both worrisome swains are taken care of."

Snaga sighed loudly, a huge weight off her chest. "Thank you, Arwen," she said gratefully, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "And – Arwen, I think I need more help picking a name."

With a sigh to rival Snaga's, Arwen dropped into a chair beside the bed and hauled one of the dictionaries into her lap. "That _is_ the other reason that I came," she pointed out. "What words do you want?"

Hmm…something to remind her of who? What did she think of when she thought of Gandalf?…or Elrond?…or…

Snaga and Arwen were at it for quite some time, accumulating a large word list before Arwen announced that it was time for dinner. Snaga gladly abandoned the interminable dictionaries and followed her to the table, where she ate large amounts of food, and fell asleep instantly.

_It was very dark. Snaga recognized the room as her cell in Dol Guldur. It was exactly as she remembered it – small, dark, and cramped, with wet walls and a stench of death and filthiness permeating the cell. Any minute Ghnakh would come with her bowl of food._

_She noticed something. There was no barred door for him to come through. The door was a wall – no, there was no door! There was no way to get in or out of the cell! Snaga whirled around painfully, her battered, half-dead body screaming in protest at any motion she made. Galadwen's voice began to laugh at her from somewhere – somehow she was in the cell with her. Snaga screamed at her to go away, her throat tearing with the sound, but Galadwen only laughed harder._ She's supposed to drop my dagger, _Snaga thought. _She's supposed to drop my dagger so I can get free. _But Galadwen's voice withdrew, and there was no dagger._

_What was happening to the walls? They were shrinking, closing in on her from all sides to crush her between them…Snaga screamed once more in pure terror –_

She sat up, clutching the bedclothes around her, gasping and sweating in the night air coming from her open window. She was in her bedroom, not Dol Guldur. She was lying in bed, the walls were stationary, and Galadwen was dead. Snaga gripped her stomach and her blankets, taking quick, heavy breaths to calm down. She looked carefully around the room, to make sure that she was perfectly safe and alone.

It was too dark. Snaga sprang from her bed and lit the lamp beside it. She also lit the one she kept on top of her closet. Bed lamp in hand, she walked slowly around her room, making sure that nothing was hiding in the corners that were still dark. Then she set the lamp back by her bed and walked to the balcony, tripping over her own feet and still shaking with fear.

Snaga rested her palms against the stone balcony and threw her head back to let the wind run through her hair. _It was a nightmare,_ she thought unsteadily, _nothing but a nightmare._ "It was a nightmare!" she yelled aloud. Her voice echoed off the houses and came back to her. "It was a nightmare…was a nightmare…nightmare…"

Why did she dream about Mordor? She was free of it. Why in the name of the Valar should it come back and haunt her sleep? Angry, helpless tears caught in her throat and slid down her face. Snaga coughed and wiped her eyes, but still they came, and with them thoughts and images she tried to push aside…_The wilderness of Mordor from the viewpoint of being held above the parapet by Shaglush…Two severed fingers lying in a pool of black blood on the stone floor of Sauron's tower…Sauron himself, the eagerness in his voice as he drew her under the spell of Darya…Galadwen, always Galadwen, with her red eyes and terrifying, insane laugh…_ **"Stop it!"** Snaga screamed into the air. "Leave me alone!"

Unbidden, a name flashed across her mind. Galadriel. With the name came the image of a beautiful woman in white descending the stairs of a mallorn to welcome her, and a feeling of safety. Snaga breathed, and only realized then that she'd been holding her breath throughout her thoughts of Mordor. She smiled in spite of her thoughts; a small, weak smile, but a smile. _That's it,_ she thought. _Lothlorien makes me feel safe, and Rivendell makes me feel calm and happy._ Her smile deepened as the thought crossed her mind.

Suddenly Snaga jerked into an upright position, taking her hands away from the balcony. What was it that Galadriel had said to her when she and Arwen left Lothlorien? It was important. It _felt_ important that she remember it.

All she could think of was her shock at hearing Galadriel's voice in her head. _But it was something she actually said to me, not just thought to me._ Snaga racked her brain, trying to remember. _After what she had said to Arwen, that was it. Arwen said something back to her, and then she came to me._

"You have made a difficult passage, maiden of the shining hair, and it is not over yet." The words returned to her mind out of nowhere. Snaga exhaled in a rush, relieved that she had remembered. A difficult passage…a difficult passage…

She made a beeline back into her room, cheerily lit now by her two lamps, and lifted the heaviest dictionary from her bedside table. Flipping through the pages, she finally found the one she wanted. Her finger ran down the list of words until she saw the one she wanted. Her mind put it together with another word.

_Yes._ It felt right. It felt perfect. "I found it," Snaga murmured. She closed the dictionary and whispered toward the balcony, "Thank you, Galadriel." She tried the sound out – it rolled smoothly off her tongue.

She put the dictionary back onto the table, lay down, pulled up the covers, and slept peacefully the rest of the night.


	21. A Name

**Snaga of Mordor**

**Chapter Twenty**

Snaga woke to the sunlight in her face. She lifted a hand to block her eyes, but turned the rest of her face toward the open window to drink the light in. She thought of the night before, and an utterly satisfied feeling ran through her body. Snaga smiled and opened her eyes.

She had to find Arwen and tell her. She leaped out of bed, threw a dress on, and ran to the garden. Arwen was there, as Snaga had known she would be, carefully transplanting a sprig of elanor she had brought from Lothlorien. "Arwen!" Snaga called. "Arwen!"

Arwen turned to see her cousin racing toward her and stood. "What?" she asked, brushing the soil off her hands.

Snaga pulled up beside her and caught her breath before saying, with a smile on her face and jubilation in her voice, "I found a name."

"_What?"_ Arwen cried. She dropped the trowel she'd been holding and threw her arms around Snaga. "What's the name you picked?"

"I didn't pick it, it picked me!"

Arwen sighed loudly. "You're hedging! What's the name?"

Snaga smiled. "All right. I did want you to be the first to know what it was." She took a breath before she spoke the name. "Cilyawen."

Arwen was silent for a moment. Then she murmured, "Maiden of the passage."

"Exactly. That's what Galadriel said to me when we left Lothlorien." She reached behind her for a strand of her hair and started to play with it. "I was having a nightmare last night, and I went out onto the balcony to breathe. Then I remembered, and…" She shrugged. "I can't explain it. It just came to me."

Arwen smiled and took her cousin's hand. "It's perfect," she said quietly. "Come in to breakfast, Cilyawen. You can tell Ada and the twins."

Cilyawen was happy with her family's reactions to her chosen name. Elrond said nothing, but he smiled at her proudly. Elladan clapped loudly when she told them, and Elrohir let out a cheer. All in all, it was enough to make Cilyawen blush with pleasure for the entirety of breakfast.

Elrond finally put down his spoon and turned to his niece. "Well, Cilyawen, since you've picked a name now, I think it should be announced to Rivendell." He looked at his children. Arwen was thrilled to see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that had mostly vanished when Celebrian sailed into the West. She wisely said nothing about it, however, but only smiled back. "What do you think?" Elrond went on, directing the question at the twins and Arwen.

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Elrohir said instantly. Elladan and Arwen nodded their instant agreement.

"Good," Elrond said. "Is that suitable for you?" he asked Cilyawen.

"Well…" She still hated being on display, but she had to tell the Elves some time. And maybe she would stop feeling "on display" if she had a proper Elvish name. "All right, then. That's fine."

"Tonight, then," Arwen said quickly. Cilyawen's eyes widened, and she threw Arwen a scared look. She had been hoping for at least a day to get used to the idea of formally changing her name. "I know you wanted to have time, but we have to do it soon, to make sure you don't change your mind!" She smiled much too innocently, and Cilyawen scooped a piece of food off her plate and lobbed it at Arwen. It hit her right between the eyes. Arwen's mouth fell open in shock, but her eyes were dancing.

Elrohir jumped to his feet delightedly. "Wonderful!" he cried, and before Cilyawen knew it, a chunk of meat had slapped her own cheek. She took her plate in both hands and tossed its contents at Elrohir. He ducked, and the missiles meant for him hit Elladan. Elrond beat a hasty retreat as his children and his niece hurled food at each other and laughed until their sides hurt. He took refuge behind a column and watched them, and a laugh began deep down inside him and spilled out as he watched.

…

Arwen gave a last tug on Cilyawen's dress to make it hang properly. With such a last-minute ceremony, there had been no time to have a new dress made for her, so Arwen had simply given her one of her own dresses that she had never worn. _It suits her coloring better than mine, anyway,_ Arwen thought, looking proudly at her cousin. Cilyawen was pretty left to her own devices and in practice leathers, but with tiny braids scattered throughout her mass of golden hair and clad in a sky-blue satin dress that brought out the matching color in her eyes, she was absolutely breathtaking. "Here," Arwen said. "I made it from the flowers in my garden." She arranged a circlet of pale blue flowers on top of Cilyawen's hair and stepped back to admire the effect.

Cilyawen bit her lip. "Arwen, I'm not sure this is a good idea –"

Arwen smiled. "Yes, it is. See, this is why we had to have it tonight, so you wouldn't decide you wanted your name to be 'Slave' forever!" That coaxed a laugh out of her cousin. "Honestly, Cilyawen, would you rather be 'Slave' or 'Maiden of the passage'?"

"There really isn't a choice," Cilyawen admitted. She took in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "Thank you, Arwen. For everything." Arwen looked down modestly. "No, I mean it! Everything. I would still be dying in Mordor if you hadn't come to get me." She put her arms around Arwen and hugged her tightly. "Thank you."

A knock sounded on the door. Arwen gave Cilyawen a quick hug in return and opened it. "Are you ready?" asked Elrond, slipping his head in the open door.

"Ready," Cilyawen echoed, stepping forward.

Elrond's eyes widened in surprise, and he smiled. "Come, then," he said, and Arwen and Cilyawen followed him.

The hall was full. All the Elves in Rivendell were there. Cilyawen's breath began to come fast and short. Arwen caught her eyes and whispered, "Breathe. It'll be over soon." Cilyawen gave her a smile that had in it a large amount of hysterical nerves and turned her eyes back to the hundreds of eyes that had latched onto her from the moment she walked in between Arwen and Elrond. _Don't show fear,_ she thought. It was an absurdly Mordorian thought, but it worked. She smoothed her face into lines of calm, and imitated Arwen's gliding walk as they drew near the high table.

Then she saw Elrohir's face, and she felt like both turning around and running back to her room, and smiling happily. He was keeping his face as calm as she was, but complete astonishment was flowing from his gray eyes, astonishment and awe. Cilyawen took her seat, trying to suppress the hope that had surged up in her at the look in his eyes.

Elrond had not taken his seat. He remained standing in front of it, and Cilyawen was grateful to him as, when he began to speak, all eyes gravitated toward him and away from her. "My fellow Eldar," he began, his voice carrying powerfully to all corners of the hall, "little more than a month ago, Arwen Undomiel returned from Mordor. With her came her cousin, born of Galadwen of Lorien and imprisoned by the Necromancer in his keep of Dol Guldur. She is returned to her people, and is known to you all as the Lady Aglarfin. Through battle and toil she has come to us, and wishes to choose a name." He turned to her and motioned for her to stand. "Is this so?"

Her throat was dry, but her voice was incredibly calm as she replied, "It is so."

Elrond took her hand and held it out in front of her. "Is it your wish to be known henceforth as Cilyawen?"

Her legs were trembling, but there was, as she had told Arwen minutes before now, no choice. "It is my wish."

Her uncle lifted her hand above her head. "Let there now be known to you, the assembled people of Imladris, and to all Eldar in Middle-earth, Cilyawen, granddaughter of Galadriel, the maiden of the passage!"

Then Cilyawen saw something she had never in her life expected – even dreamed – to see. All the Elves assembled before her, one by one, gravely bowed their heads to her, until she alone had her head raised. Even Elrond, even Elrohir, even Arwen, had bowed their heads. She looked out at the sea of lowered heads and felt her face break into a smile. She was one of them now. They had accepted her.

When they all lifted their heads, she was still smiling.

…

Halfway through the feast to celebrate her choosing of a name, Cilyawen asked to be excused for a moment. She got up and left the hall for the balcony, choosing a spot out of eyesight of the rest of the banqueters, leaning her elbows onto the railing, and staring out at the stars.

Her mind was a whirl of color and light and jubilance. They had accepted her! She could barely believe it. She was truly an Elf, one of the Eldar. She felt like singing. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cool, clean night air. She tilted her head back to catch the soft breeze on her face and smiled again.

Someone touched her shoulder lightly. Cilyawen knew who it was before he spoke, so she didn't need to turn around and look at him. "Everyone wants you to come back inside," Elrohir said softly. "They want you to come back and make the hall bright again."

He had never spoken to her this way before. Oh, how she had wanted him to, had imagined it while she lay in bed, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. She kept her eyes closed and listened to the words she had longed for him to say to her.

His hand brushed hers, light as a feather. "I told them you might not, but I thought I'd come out and see anyway." There was the familiar teasing note in his voice. It blended well with the tenderness his voice held now, and it brought her back to reality enough to reply.

"I wanted to be alone." But as she spoke, she caught at his hand, which still just barely touched hers.

His fingers wrapped around hers. "Shall I go back in and tell them so?"

"No." She took a step backwards to be closer to him.

"You don't want to be alone anymore?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Now she turned around, her hand still in his, and looked deep into his eyes. "No," she said again, and lifted her lips to his.

He put his arms around her and held her close to him. Sweetness danced through her body, skipping from their joined lips to run through her and suffuse her with a sense of absolute bliss. Her arms slid up to his neck and twined themselves around it. He held her lightly, as though she might break, but she felt completely safe within the circle of his arms.

Finally he broke the kiss, but he kept his arms around her. One hand stole up to touch the pointed tip of her ear, and Cilyawen smiled. Elrohir smiled too, and then they both laughed out loud. Elrohir put an end to the laughter by lowering his mouth to hers again, and she welcomed the second kiss with as much joy as she had the first. The second kiss was full of exuberance and life, and neither of them broke it until they were forced to part and gasp for air. Then, breathless, Elrohir caught both her hands in his and gasp-laughed, "Will you marry me, maiden of the passage?"

Cilyawen's smile was not only broad, it was ecstatic. "There is no one else I would rather marry," she answered, and Elrohir caught her by the waist and lifted her up into the air. He twirled her around and around until she was dizzy, and then let her slide down into his arms. She held him close to her, treasuring the feel of his arms around her and his head leaning against hers. The feeling of peace was dissolving into her bones.

Elrohir let out a soft sigh, and his fingers played with a strand of her hair. Cilyawen looked up, amused, and he grinned down at her. "Shall we go back in?" he asked.

"All right," she agreed, reluctantly loosening her arms. She kept hold of his hand, though.

"After all," Elrohir added, "they're all gathered already. What better time to announce our engagement?"

Cilyawen couldn't hold back her laugh. It slid from between her lips and threw itself out into the sky. She turned back to Elrohir, her eyes dancing. "I love you," she whisper-laughed, the first of the countless thousands of times she would say those words, and walked back into the hall.

**The End.**

_Author's Note: Well, this is it for "Snaga of Mordor." There is, however, a sequel, also finished, which I'll get around to posting here pretty soon. Thank you to everybody who read "Snaga" – I'm kind of bad with the author's notes thing, but I love you all, even though I didn't get around to saying it until now._

_In case anyone is wondering, I made a mistake with her name. I found the word for "passage" in my Elvish-English dictionary, but I made a typo when I wrote the story. Her name should actually be "Ciryawen," but I didn't catch it until halfway through the sequel. It still annoys the crap out of me, and I apologize for that, but now Cilyawen is so much her name that I can't change it._

_One last thing, and then I swear this excessively long note is OVER! Parmalokwen pointed out that I made a pretty lousy canon mistake in making Cilyawen and Elrohir first cousins. This will be remedied shortly when I have some time on my hands. Until then, please accept my apologies for that mistake!_

_Thank you all again! Over and out. :-)_


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